


A Fragment Of A Whole

by PrettyOddChild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angelic Grace, Angst, Blood and Torture, Bottom Dean, Dean's Soul, Depression, Discrimination, F/M, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, Harvelle's Roadhouse, M/M, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Top Castiel, Torture, Wings, Work In Progress, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 265,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyOddChild/pseuds/PrettyOddChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Destiel</p><p>Dean's life isn't great.<br/>Pretty far fucking from it, actually.<br/>But something good happens to everyone at some point, right?<br/>And Dean may have just found that 'something'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Harmony to Every Lonely Song

 

 

When you’re soaring through the air  
I’ll be your solid ground  
Take every chance you dare  
I’ll still be there  
When you come back down

 Nickel Creek

 

 

He’d been in the building for no longer than two minutes, and already Dean felt like tearing his fucking hair out.

For starters, he’d forgotten to take his antidepressants. Something he had never done before.

And now Walker was picking a fight.

Yeah, okay. Maybe Dean had knocked him a little as he walked past, but was there really any fucking need to blow up like that? It wasn’t like he’d catch a disease or anything.

Well. Dean hoped Gordon would catch some sort of incurable illness and just fuck back off to hell.

He stumbled down the hall, shoving in his earphones to block out whatever idiotic shit Gordon had decided to call him that day, thinking about what he could get Sammy for Christmas as he made his way to his Auto Technology class. It was the only course he took, in spite of the whole recommended at-least-two-courses ideal.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t be bothered to do anything else in addition to the mechanics; it was more that he knew how he wanted to spend the rest of his life and he didn’t need anything else to do the job. Not when he’d practically been given it already.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean continued to walk on, pushing past his fellow college students as quickly as he could so that he could get to his workshop on time. He’d already been late once this week, and he doubted Turner would let him off easy again.

“I’m talking to you, faggot! The least you could do is turn around!”

Dean gritted his teeth, never once slowing his pace. He was almost there, just a couple of doors away, but there was that sudden urge to stand his ground like he’d done so many times. Fighting wasn’t his thing, not unless he’d been hit first, but there was no way he was gonna let some utter prick beat the shit out of him.

He could hold his own.

He stopped when the Hulk-like hand slammed down on his shoulder, and he plastered a smile to his face as he was spun around. “Hey there, Walker. Need me to tie your laces for you again?”

The expression on Gordon’s face was priceless – blooming into something relatively frightful when a couple of people sniggered as they passed by – but then there was that not-so-subtle anger burning away in his eyes that really got the adrenaline pumping through Dean's veins. Winding Gordon up was easy, but getting out of his grip was another matter.

When Dean had applied to the college, not once had he imagined it to have that same-old high-school hierarchy. He hadn't even thought that such a thing would exist - especially since he mostly kept to himself - and yet here he was: facing the  _one_  douchebag who apparently had nothing better to do with his time. Walker was the kind of person that went out of his way to harass anyone the least bit different, and although Dean knew it wasn't just him who got branded with harsh names, or got shoved around, Gordon certainly paid him a lot of attention. 

Whether that was down to Dean's age or not he didn't know, because yes: he  _was_  older than most of the students here. He'd had to work quite a lot just to save up for the course in the first place.

Their family wasn’t exactly rich, and John hadn’t had the money to provide Dean with the education.

Nor had he had enough to pay all the bills, apparently.

Anyway, this was his final year of mechanics and Gordon - despite being three fucking years younger than him - was making even the transition around the building a huge friggin’ nightmare. Sure, Dean didn’t really have to go anywhere other than the same workshop four times a week, but the abusive giant always seemed to find a way of stopping Dean between class and lunch, should Dean actually decide to eat the terrible food they served. He was more partial to driving home and grabbing leftovers from the fridge.

And anyway, the food here wasn’t free; and what was the point in buying stuff when he had a meal half-eaten waiting for him in the one place Gordon couldn’t go?

“Makin’ a habit out of shoving me over are you, Winchester?” Gordon spat – like, literally. Dean could feel the spittle hit his chin and he recoiled in disgust, attempting to shrug out of Walker’s grasp. “You gonna apologise or what?”

Dean scowled, really fucking uncomfortable with the close distance they shared. He liked his personal space, and he wasn’t intending to share it with anyone.

Apart from maybe Lisa Braeden from one of the History classes. She was pretty hot.

“Sorry,” he said, staring the man directly in the eye. He couldn’t be fucked to argue right now. Not when he had places he needed to be.

Walker made some sort of satisfied snort, pushing Dean backwards harshly as he turned around, strutting back over to those moronic chicks who practically worshipped the guy. Dean never understood how someone as brutal and repulsive as Gordon, managed to attract the attention of cute girls who could do so much better.

Dean hadn’t exactly tried to talk to them or anything, mainly because they reminded him quite a lot of the girls he’d dated back in high school, and he hadn’t exactly formed great bonds with  _them_  during their time together.

He tugged on the hem of his shirt to keep his hands occupied as he made his way to his class again, muttering to himself as he pressed on down the hall.

 

*

 

The door slammed behind him when he finally got back home, and he dumped his wallet and keys on the bureau, frowning as he kicked off his shoes. He felt empty and still kinda pissed off, but it wasn't like it mattered. It was typical; no different to any other day.

The first thing he did as soon as he got upstairs was change into his running gear - or, in other words, a pair of Lycra shorts that were a size too big, and an old tee. He didn’t really care what he looked like; it wasn’t like he had a reputation to keep up should anyone see him.

Gordon, upon their first week of knowing each other, had spread around a rumour that Dean had tried on Rhonda Hurley’s panties when he’d dated her a year ago.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t  _actually_  a rumour, but it was still none of that asshole’s business what Dean did in his own time – not that he went around wearing girl’s underwear on a regular occasion. He could have done without the description of said underwear assisting Gordon’s little story, but there wasn’t exactly much he could do to make the situation any better now that it had passed.

But he’d never forgiven Rhonda for actually telling Gordon and all her stupid friends in the first place.

Dean pulled on his sneakers, the old material faded and grey, and flimsy against his ankles. He’d had them for years, but he knew there wasn’t much point in buying a new pair since these had lasted so long. When they finally crumbled into ash or whatever;  _that’s_  when he’d get another cheaply made pair.

Sam was walking through the front door as Dean came jogging down the stairs, and he grinned at the boy, fumbling around the coat rack to find his iPod in one of the jacket pockets.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam smiled, dumping his backpack beside the front door. “How was class?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” Dean supplied casually. The usual being Gordon picking a fight and Dean mocking him in front of everyone who knew him until the asshole made some sort of empty threat. “What about you? How was school?” Dean questioned in return, threading his headphones beneath the collar of his shirt so that the cord wouldn’t be slapping into his face whilst he ran.

“The usual,” Sam laughed, strolling past to head on up the staircase. “I take it you’re going for a run then?”

Dean turned to call over his shoulder. “Always knew you were smart, Sammy.”

“Shut up,” the boy snorted.

Dean chuckled softly, opening the front door again. “Well, I’ll be back soon. Don’t you dare watch Dr. Sexy without me!”

“Very funny,” Sam muttered in response, but Dean could hear the humour enveloping his words and he didn't have to force the smile any longer, stepping out onto the porch feeling far more relaxed than he had two minutes before. The door made that familiar click as it shut behind him, the crisp autumn air sharp yet refreshing against his skin.

Perfect weather.

Dean performed a few casual stretches before setting off on his daily run, pushing in his earphones as he jogged across their front yard to hit the paving. This was the only time during the day that he could really spend on his own, giving him time to either clear his head or find fault in whatever it was he had accomplished that day – depending on how he was feeling, of course.

Obviously, today had been pretty crap, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. He’d dealt with it like he always had.

The thud of his feet on the sidewalk remained consistent as he headed toward the public sports stadium.

There were several routes he could take, depending on how long he actually wanted to be alone, but it always ended with him running around the perimeter of the stadium at least twice, what with it being so damn tiring.

Although it may sound weird to most people, Dean relished the feeling of complete exhaustion after a long run. It made him feel content and satisfied with himself, knowing that he had used every last drop of energy for something productive.

Sam used to say that running wasn’t a productive activity, as it was simply ‘ _moving about with no real intention’,_ but the thing was, Dean found it incredibly prolific. He was keeping himself healthy. Even if it required no creativity, it was still beneficial, and even better: it made Dean feel good about himself.

Shame about the crappy scenery he had to pass every day though. Where he lived, the buildings were pretty much all painted grey. Every so often there’d be a burst of colour from a store or something, but other than that, it was fairly bleak. He’d considered moving out of town for a while now, but Sam was still in school, and Dean had to finish his college course – and yeah. There wasn’t much point.

He’d lived in Kansas City for most of his life, but it just seemed to keep getting more and more unattractive. Dean wanted to move around a bit, maybe go to a different state entirely when Sam graduated.

He slowed his pace as he neared the entrance of the run-down stadium. As usual, the large area was abandoned, allowing full use of the pitch’s outer limits. Dean settled on a simple jog as he worked his way around the width of the turf, keeping the pace steady and even.

He turned to the left as he made the first corner, speeding up slightly. He wasn’t ready to sprint the length yet. Dean decided that he’d push himself to the limit when he was nearing fatigue.

That was the usual plan anyway.

As Dean rounded the second corner, his left foot made contact with some sort of steel object that jutted up from the grass, and he cried out as he fell forward, landing hard on his hands and knees. The grass felt slightly damp and clingy beneath his bare skin, sending a shiver down his spine, and he grimaced, shifting slightly so he could move to stand. He hauled himself up in the most delicate and careful way possible, his ankle throbbing with a dull heat when he went to apply weight to it, before he hobbled over toward the bleachers so that he could sit down.

It wasn’t often that he got injured during his routine: the occasional strain on his muscles because he didn’t stretch properly, or maybe just tripping over due to pure clumsiness, but whatever it was that had fucked up his ankle sure as hell hadn’t been there the day prior.

Even from this distance, Dean could see that the object was odd: some sort of stumpy pole – silver and slim, tilted at a bizarre angle from what Dean could only assume was down to him kicking it.

He stared at the silver pole. How he hadn’t seen it beforehand was a mystery. It stuck out like a sore thumb, the handle raised firmly in the air at least five inches above the mud.

Dean figured that he should remove it to prevent any further harm to anyone else who used the stadium.

He shifted his weight onto his right leg, allowing him to stand, before shuffling over to the shiny thing, trying to avoid applying too much pressure on his other ankle.

The ‘pole’ was actually some sort of toy, most probably belonging to one of the LARPers in the vicinity. They usually did their little ‘role plays’ in their backyards – it was pretty hard to ignore the sound of them fake-dying, or whatever the hell they did, from all over the street.

Dean picked up the accessory warily. It was only once he'd prised the thing from the earth did he note how light it was. For something that had initially appeared as if made of metal, Dean had expected it to have been considerably heavier.

Along the handle, there was some sort of inscription in a code or made up language – kinda like that Elfish alphabet from Lord of the Rings, if not a little bit stranger.

He tucked it into the fold of his waterproof jacket, cradling it in his arms as he begun to walk back across the pitch. He’d look at it later, and then probably see if Sam wanted it. It was the sort of thing the kid was into.

 

*

 

It took Dean longer than expected to return back home. Sam was waiting outside, seated on the front porch, dressed only in a thin shirt and jeans.

“Sam, what have I told you about going out half naked? If you don’t dress warm enough you’re gonna ge – “

“You’re back!” Sam grinned, jumping up and thrusting a crippled piece of paper in his face. “I forgot to show you this before!”

“What is it?” Dean stopped walking so that Sam wouldn’t see him limping, carding a hand through his hair nervously.

Sam always made a fuss when Dean got hurt.

“My report card for the fall term,” Sam announced full of pride, holding it in place for Dean to read the details. “I got an A+ in every single subject!”

“Fucking hell,” Dean laughed, leaning forward to look at the appraisal Sam’s teachers had written in a separate column. Frequent comments such as  _‘Sam’s work is outstanding’_  and  _‘Sam is a delight to teach’_  made Dean feel incredibly proud of his younger brother. The kid was really friggin’ talented.

He glanced down at the boy, not by much, seeing as Sam was currently going through a growth spurt. “Dude, that’s awesome!”

Sam went slightly pink, dropping his arms a little lower. “So does that mean I can go round to Andy’s next week?”

“Sam, I wasn’t seriously gonna ground you if you got low grades. Of course you can go,” Dean smiled, satisfied. He knew that Sam would have done well regardless of whether he’d bribed him or not.

“Thanks Dean,” Sam said, the same silly grin plastered on his face. “Oh. Do you want me to go check if the hot water’s on yet?”

“That’d be great, man,” Dean replied, following the boy as they traipsed toward the house. His ankle didn’t hurt as much anymore, but he could tell it was swollen without even looking, what with how friggin' difficult it was to move it properly.

Sam ran ahead down the corridor to check the heater, remaining unaware of Dean’s injury. It wasn’t like the kid could do anything to help anyway. He’d just be worried.

“The water’s on now, ‘kay?” Sam called from the kitchen, followed by a clattering of pans as the boy began to clear away the dishes.

Dean shuffled up the porch steps, leaning against the doorframe as he tugged off his sneakers. The soles were caked in mud, so he decided to leave them out for the next day.

“Thanks, dude.”

He stopped off in his bedroom first, dumping his jacket beside his bed as he dug around for clean clothes. He had work later, so he collected together a shirt and jeans – his regular attire for working at the local bar.

 

*

 

Sam was loud and talkative over dinner, which was unsurprising since the kid had a pretty busy schedule to provide plenty of conversation.

They were having cold pizza. For the second night in a row.

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t like pizza; it was the fact that he couldn’t really afford anything more nutritious to feed Sam with.

The fact that Dean attended college meant he couldn’t work as much as he would like to. Ellen gave him four-hour long evening shifts at The Roadhouse, Monday through to Friday, whilst he worked at Singer’s Auto-Repairs on Saturdays, nine till three.

Although Dean volunteered for more shifts every weekend, Bobby wouldn’t allow it, insisting that Dean deserved a ‘well-earned rest’ for all of the hard work he’d contributed during his regular shift.

It was true: Dean did work extremely hard. But the thing was, he could really do with the extra money. He was currently putting aside a fair amount of his wages to save up for Sammy’s college fund. That was kinda the reason why he was being so cheap in terms of their budget.

He hadn’t told Sam about it yet. He knew Sam well enough to know that the response wouldn't be one of gratitude. That wasn't to say that Sam was ungrateful or anything, but the kid was constantly on at him about how he ‘worked too hard’ and shouldn’t worry about whether or not he could afford Sam's tuition in the future.  _That_  was usually followed by a lie insisting that Sam didn't even want to go to college, but Dean knew it was just so he'd feel compelled to take it easy.

He wasn't an idiot. He'd heard enough during the parent-teacher evenings to know that Sam was interested in law, as weird as it was for a kid his age to be interested in that kind of thing. Dean didn't really mind - he was actually glad that Sam was planning out his life already, studying hard to meet the requirements for whatever course he wanted to take.

Dean hadn't been that organised.

Sure, he'd wanted to work at the garage, and he'd worked Saturdays ever since he could remember, but it wasn't as if he actually  _tried_  to get the grades necessary to get where he was now. In actual fact, the only real reason he'd scraped a place to begin with was down to the fact that he'd known Rufus Turner beforehand. The guy had worked with Bobby 'back in the day', so the old man had put in a good word for him when Dean had suggested he take up the Technician course. Bobby may have already promised Dean a full-time job, but Dean didn't want to work without qualifications, knowing there was some mechanic out there suited for the job better than he was. Not only that, but Dean didn't want to take advantage of the situation, what with Bobby being a good friend of the family and all. 

He'd helped them through a lot.

But anyway, working full time meant that he wouldn’t have to work late shifts at The Roadhouse anymore; so not only would he earn more, but he’d also have more time to spend with Sam.

“So, after that, Jess told me that I should consider joining the basketball team, because I’m so tall and stuff, but I don’t know. D’ya think it’ll affect my grades or anything?”

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted at the mention of Jessica. The kid had a habit of name-dropping this girl into most conversations these days.

“I’m sure you’ll cope, seeing as you’re such a brainiac,” Dean began, taking a quick swig of his cola. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask. Who exactly  _is_ this Jess character?” He smiled mischievously, relishing the dark blush that spread across Sam’s cheeks.

“Uh, well, she’s a friend from school.”

“Yeah, I figured that much out by myself. I mean is there anything more going on or ...” Dean trailed off, allowing the younger boy to fill in the blank for him.

“Deeaaan,” Sam whined, face going even darker. “She’s  _just_  a friend!”

“Uh-huh," Dean teased, leaning back in his chair when Sam pouted, holding back his laughter. "Well, hey, y'know: if you ever wanna invite this ‘friend’ round for dinner, just ask.”

There was a pause in their conversation for a moment, the boy avoiding eye contact.

“Well, umm,” Sam stopped, glancing down at his hands. “Me and Jess have a project set for Friday, so – “

“So you want to invite her round tomorrow then? Should I ask Ellen for the night off or do you guys want some privacy?”

“N-no!” The boy stammered. “Please can you take the night off – but don’t be embarrassing or anything, because I  _swear_  I will disown you as a brother!”

“That’s real sweet of you, Sammy,” Dean smirked, stretching as he rose from the couch. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He cleared their plates off the worn coffee table situated in the centre of the living room before heading toward the kitchen, no longer favouring his left ankle.

“Thank you, Dean,” Sam called after him, the hint of a smile to his voice.

Dean loved it when Sam was happy. He tried as often as he could to get Sam what he wanted, regardless of the occasion. The kid barely asked for anything, fully aware of their economic situation, and always using his own money from doing paper rounds and the like to afford his purchases.

It was heartbreaking knowing that Sam could be happy all the time if Dean could earn a little more.

But it wasn’t long now. Dean would graduate in seven months.

He could only count down the days.

 

*

 

It was a Wednesday, so the bar was fairly quiet when he got there. He liked it when the regulars stopped by. This one guy, Chuck, was a struggling writer. He visited every night to drown his sorrows in drink.

He was funny. Always on about conspiracy theories, but funny none the less.

The night went smoothly. No complaints. No fights. But then again, when had there ever been? The bar had a pretty good reputation for being peaceful.

Dean scrubbed down the main bar, sweeping away crumbs with the damp cloth and mopping up the spillages. It wasn’t a particularly difficult job, cleaning and serving – especially in the middle of the week. The job was always easier when there were next to no customers. And Dean got to ditch the place early.

“Okay, Ellen. I’m finished for the night,” Dean shouted in the direction of the store cupboard as he pulled on his jacket.

“Alright, Hun – see you Friday.”

“La’er Dean,” Chuck slurred from the far right, head dipping slightly as his eyes lost focus.

“Yeah, later,” he waved, pushing open the door with his free arm.

The temperature had dropped considerably. Dean wrapped his jacket tighter around his body before remembering that he could, in fact, seal the coat shut with a simple tug on the zipper. His ankle didn’t feel painful whatsoever but he'd taken a couple of painkillers before arriving at work anyway just to be on the safe-side, so it wasn't all that surprising.

He crossed the street, keeping beneath the lamp posts. His wisps of breath in the cool air shimmered in the light, curling and diffusing into the surrounding atmosphere. The area was always quiet and calm around about this time.

Of course, Dean didn’t really appreciate the silence, having brought his iPod along specifically. Sometimes it was too quiet to be considered comfortable.

As Dean passed the stadium, he could see a faint white glow, dimming substantially the closer he went to the entrance. He strolled past without as much as a glimpse behind him. If the neighbourhood kids were performing yet another creepy satanic ritual, Dean didn’t want to get involved. It was freaky enough having to view the remains of whatever they’d done when he ran the perimeter a day later.

So long as there were no more dangerously situated objects on the turf, Dean could deal with it.

 

*

 

Sam brought Jess back home with him the following day, giving the girl a full tour of the house before Dean got back from the store. They’d been running low on coffee for the past few days, and even though the cheap brand was incredibly bitter, Dean couldn’t function without it.

She was cute; all blond curls that rested lazily on her shoulders, and a wide-mouthed smile that could brighten anyone’s day.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean,” Jessica giggled, flicking her hair out and away from her big, round eyes. “Sam’s told me  _all_ about you, and from what he’s said, I honestly wish I had a brother like you!”

Dean could feel the heat bloom on his cheeks and he rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment, surprised that Sam had even talked about him in the first place. “I, uhhh … well thank you! I’m flattered!”

She laughed again, dainty and gentle. Sam just stood beside her, a soft smile gracing his features as he clutched the homework supplies in his arms. That wasn’t the sort of look Dean’d expect from being ‘just friends’, but each to their own.

The pair set up their work in the living room, a scattering of multicoloured card and sharpened pencils. Dean remembered being set similar projects during his time at high school, not that he ever did them. He never really liked school. Teachers especially – always dragging him aside to ask if he was okay, why he smelt of smoke, why he wasn’t focussing properly, yada, yada, yada. It was dull and repetitive, and made him increasingly unhappy when forced to think about his future.

Dean wasn’t the sort of student who tried particularly hard at anything unless he enjoyed it.

Like football.

He’d been captain of the team until his poor grades threatened his position. He acted like he couldn’t really give a fuck at the time, but practice was all he had to look forward to after classes each Thursday.

“Well, I gotta go for my run – I'll see you guys later,” Dean shouted as he walked down the corridor.

He had so much energy stored up from a day of doing next to nothing. Even his classes these days were becoming a bore. It wasn’t like he learnt anything new anyway. He’d already picked up most of his skills from experience at the garage.

Sometimes he wondered why he even kept going instead of just waiting until the end of the year to take the exam, but he’d paid for the tutoring so there wasn’t much point in wasting it.

The autumn breeze rolled harshly against his exposed forearms, hairs standing on end in an attempt to trap heat. It was warmer than the day prior which was something. The weather was always undecided around these parts, constantly changing throughout the day. The sky looked like it was threatening snow, and yet it was only the first week of November.

Dean pushed his earphones in, setting his iPod on shuffle before he began to jog down the paving.

His ankle hadn’t given him trouble all day, and although it was kinda risky to be running about with some sort of injury, it wasn’t like it was serious anyway. He could cope with a little pain if he encountered any.

He sped up as he passed the local hairdressers, taking a longer, alternative route to the stadium. He needed to relax, and a longer run would definitely help. That, and the fact he knew that something unpleasant may be waiting for him in the stadium. It was barely ever used by the general public – other than the occasional football game in the spring – so whatever those kids had done was bound to still be there, untouched.

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

He could see the exterior looming in the distance, so he began speeding up to waste more energy. He figured that if he tired faster, he wouldn’t have to endure whatever was waiting for him for as long.

Dean approached the cobbled wall, slowing down considerably as he neared the opening. He rounded the entrance warily, head tilted so that he could view the right hand side of the turf. There wasn't much to be seen, just a collection of fabrics clumped in a pile some distance away.

Dean could only assume the kids had tried to start a bonfire or something.

He jogged toward it slowly, analysing every detail as he got closer. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, given the various rodent corpses that had turned up in the past, collected together in a neat little pile. In this instance, the materials were grouped together in a very specific manner, almost like ...

Was that a  _person?_

“Hey, are you alright?” Dean shouted as he drew nearer, tugging out the earplugs to listen for a reply.

Whoever it was didn't stir. The only movement was that of the clothing being strewn about by the wind.

As Dean approached he could see that this person was male, dressed in a smart suit and a tan trench coat, caked in mud and blades of grass. His hair was a mess of dark strands, brushing his face slightly as the wind picked up.

"Dude, you alright?"

The man remained silent and still.

For all Dean knew he could be dead.

Dean stopped about a foot away from the body, crouching down so that he could check for a pulse. He pressed two fingers below the collar of the man's neck, searching for the jugular. The skin was smooth, and surprisingly warm in spite of the cold chill that ran through the air, contrasting with Dean's calloused hands.

The man shifted, jolting slightly away from the touch.

"Thank God," Dean sighed with relief. "You okay?”

The stranger opened his eyes - blue and bright, wide with intrigue - and stared upward, meeting Dean's gaze.

This guy was hot, for a fucking hobo or whatever he was.

Dean cleared his throat to break the silence. "Uhhh, how long you been lying here? You're not hurt or anything are you?"

The man attempted to sit upright, shifting his weight onto the palms of his hands, staring back all the while. There were several small red stains on the chest of his white shirt, making the man wince when the fabric was pulled taut.

"You're bleeding! What the hell happened?!"

Did those Satanists attack him last night and leave him for dead? What the fuck was wrong with the kids around here? This was definitely something he needed to report. He’d run into them a few times but nothing they’d ever said or done was enough to get the police involved, even after they'd had a dead squirrel shoved in their mailbox.

"I am ... perfectly fi-"

"You are blatantly not!" Dean interrupted, moving closer so he could examine the clothing. There were small tears in the material where the instrument used to harm this man had cut through. The incisions didn’t look too deep, probably not life-threatening, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure.

Dean glanced at his hands, noting the oily residue from the workshop he'd attended earlier.

Maybe these weren't the most sanitary conditions to examine the wounds in.

"Hey," Dean said, meeting the man's watchful stare once more. "Think you can stand?"

The guy looked startled, but proceeded to gently rise off of the floor, grabbing Dean's arm as a levee. In return, Dean wrapped his other arm beneath the stranger's left shoulder, supporting the weight, even if it wasn't necessary. The man leant into the gesture, slumping as his knees gave way.

"Whoa, whoa - take it easy! Don't strain yourself!"

The man turned his head, his eyes had glazed over but they were fierce. Determined, even.

They became fixated on Dean's own yet again.

“So, uhhh, what’s your name?” Dean stammered, not wanting an awkward silence to develop between them.

The man remained silent, unwilling to break the eye contact, apparently.

“Umm, well my name’s Dean – Dean Winchester.”  He offered a shaky smile in an attempt to make his companion respond.

“Castiel.”

“I’m sorry – what?”

“My name,” the man uttered, low and gravely. “Is Castiel.”

Fuck, his voice was just ...

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Castiel!” Dean glanced away, simultaneously stepping, and tugging,  _Castiel_  forward. He couldn’t even look at this guy without getting a fucking boner – not that he usually hit on dudes anyway. Sure there’d been a few, but he wouldn’t go as far to say he was gay – no matter how many times Gordon called him a ‘fag’ or ‘queer’ or whatever. Bisexual, maybe, but he still liked girls; with their soft breasts and curvy figures – girls were definitely more appealing.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t find Castiel appealing in any way, though. The guy had a nice enough face, a little bit of stubble lining his jaw which only added to the whole rugged appearance, what with the mussed hair and tattered clothing. And he had an okay build: didn’t look too muscular – but then again, he _was_ wearing a shit-ton of layers, so it wasn’t exactly clear.

But he had nice hands: pale and smooth, with long slender fingers.

Dean had a thing for nice hands.

They lumbered across the pitch, Dean practically dragging Castiel all the way. The guy was trying – really, he was – but Dean was struggling to keep them both upright. The muddy ground didn’t help, so Dean was glad when they finally hit the paving.

They would definitely walk back via the regular route.

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel wheezed. “You don't have to help me ... if I am a burden.”

“You are _not_ a burden!” Dean replied, his breath coming ragged and fast. “And you can call me Dean. You don’t have to be so formal.”

He shifted Castiel slightly, preventing the man from falling flat on his face. They had just passed the general store, and Dean could see his ’67 Chevy parked in the drive to the right hand side of the house in the distance. Castiel became heavier as he rested on Dean’s arm, dragging his feet sluggishly.

“Don’t worry dude, we’re almost at my place. Just ... just keep walking.” It was becoming pretty darn strenuous to even talk. Dean glanced down at the paving, watching his feet press on as if they were a completely different entity. His thighs were burning despite the strong muscle that had developed with running. Even his arms were tired from supporting the guy, and it had only been what? Ten minutes since he found him?

“Dean ...”

“Do you want to stop? We can take a breather if you want – hell, I don’t mind!”

Castiel’s head fell gently onto Dean’s shoulder, dark hair brushing the exposed skin of Dean’s neck. They stopped walking, the other man’s body collapsing entirely onto his own.

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean yelped, falling backwards under the pressure. He landed flat on his ass with Castiel against his chest. The poor guy was trembling, probably in a lot of pain.

“I ... I’m so sorry ... Dean, I ... can’t ...” Castiel whispered, looking up in apology. His eyes were no longer displaying the determined look that had been there only a short time ago. These exhibited pain and shock, wide with fright.

“Hey – I’m fine, okay? You should be worrying about yourself! You didn’t get hurt again, did you?”

It scared him, seeing another man so vulnerable and helpless. If he’d of gone into the stadium last night to look, instead of Castiel, he probably would have been just as distressed. And Sam would have been –

_Sam!_

“Cas, buddy, you wouldn’t mind waiting here on your own for a sec, would ya?” He asked shifting slightly away from Castiel’s weight, propping the other man up against a garden fence. He modified Castiel’s position into a more comfortable one before standing up, stretching his legs.

“ ... Dean?”

“Don’t worry – this will literally take a minute. You’ll thank me for it later!” He smiled, trying to cheer Castiel up, or at least ease his nerves. “Don’t go anywhere!” He called back as he began to sprint down the street. His legs throbbed in agony, but it was a short trip, and it would be worth it.

He jumped up the steps, turning to look at Castiel’s slouched body in the distance as he fumbled through his pockets for his keys.

“Sam!” he called, opening the door abruptly. “Can you give me a hand?”

Sam strolled out of the living room, Jess following pursuit. “What’s wrong?”

“Just ...” he panted. "Just come with me for a minute please. I really need your help!”

And then Dean was running back, Sam trailing behind lethargically, not realising how important this was.

Before long the kid was overtaking him, feet pounding heavily on the sidewalk as he rushed to aid the stranger.

“What the hell happened?” Sam yelled, skidding slightly on the tarmac as he came to a sudden stop.

“Cas got hurt – not sure when – but he needed help!” Dean insisted, resting down beside the now-startled invalid. “Can you, uh, help me take him back to the house? I need to check how serious his wounds are!”

“I-I guess ... but why didn’t you call an ambulance? Wouldn’t that have been easier?” Sam asked, reaching under Castiel’s right arm. Dean mirrored Sam’s actions on the left hand side, and together, they raised Castiel from the floor.

“I wasn’t gonna admit him to a hospital if it wasn’t even serious! Plus, they’d probably just discharge him with a friggin’ $200 bill. I would be so pissed if that happened to me, Sam!”

They stumbled down the street in silence. Castiel’s gaze was trained on Dean again. It should have been creepy – Dean  _wanted_  to think it was creepy – but he actually kind of liked turning his head, and meeting the watchful stare of the stranger every so often. The guy was really fucking beautiful. He looked about twenty ... twenty-one? Other than his jaw, his facial features were delicate and smooth – young looking. And his motherfucking cheekbones ...

But nothing compared to Castiel’s eyes. The pools of blue, dancing with golds and greens, were absolutely stunning. They were what the nearby lake looked like in the summer when the sunlight reflected off the rippled surface.

Great. Now he was on the verge of writing poetry about a complete and utter stranger.

Castiel was still staring, stoic. Dean really wanted to know what this guy was thinking. They’d been pretty much engaging in, what Sam would call ‘eye-sex’, for the short length that they'd been travelling with the younger Winchester, and they hadn’t even had a proper conversation.

“So, uhhh, Cas,” Dean began, ripping his eyes away from the other man’s. “Do you have family nearby that can pick you up when we’ve checked you over? Y’know like a girlfriend, wife – that sort of thing.”

Sam leaned forward slightly, so that he could be viewed to the side of Castiel, giving Dean a quizzical look.

Dean could still feel the man’s intense stare, burning his skin with embarrassment.

And just like that it was gone, replaced by the gentle press of Castiel’s head on Dean’s shoulder. The look on Sam’s face was priceless, and the butterflies Dean felt in his stomach weren’t too bad either.

He knew he should say something – anything – even if it only made Sam more at ease with the situation. “Cas, buddy, you okay?” He could feel the blush on his cheeks spread to his ears.

“Do not ... worry, Dean Winchester. I am ... quite alright.”

No fucking kidding.

Sam looked hopelessly confused. “Uh, so do you guys work together or –“

“Yes!” Dean blurted. He didn’t really want to scare the younger boy with stories about how the neighbourhood kids sacrificed bunnies in an attempt to raise Satan (he’d had to cover up their messes numerous times so not to scar the kid for life), and he didn’t really know how to explain to Sam why Castiel was being so ... friendly. “Well, we used to anyway. Cas here worked at The Roadhouse a while back.”

“...Dean? That isn’t ... that’s not true -” Castiel began. His dark hair was brushing against Dean’s bare neck in the wind, causing Dean to shift about in a stilted, awkward fashion.

“Cas, take it easy. I’m fairly sure you’re concussed!” Dean interjected, twitching as more hair brushed his skin. At this, Castiel raised his head pathetically, brow furrowing in confusion. It was almost as if he was desperately trying to reminisce some made up memory of their friendship. Dean didn’t know whether he should be amused or worried.

The guy could genuinely be suffering from concussion for all he knew.

“Look, Dean, if you know him, I don’t see the problem with him crashing at ours until he’s well enough to go home.” They were outside the house at this point. Jess was waiting on the porch, clutching the first aid kit that they kept in the bathroom cupboard. Saved Dean the job of digging around for it.

“Well, maybe we should leave the decision making up to him. If he wants to stay, that’s fine by me,” Dean huffed. Of course, having the guy stay wouldn’t be too much of a problem – if the stranger was okay with lying his way through the next few days, that is. “Ready?”

They helped Castiel up the few steps that led to the front entrance. It wasn’t too much of a struggle – Cas was easier to lift with Sam’s help.

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean wheezed. He nudged Castiel slightly, causing the dark-haired man to look up at him with surprised eyes.

God. This guy was so friggin’ adorable.

“C’mon, dude. Let’s get you checked out.”

 

*

 

“That doesn’t hurt does it?” Dean was pressing down the bandages surrounding the affected area. Several short cuts had been made across Castiel’s chest, none of which were particularly deep. Dean was fairly sure they’d be fine in a couple of days.

“No, Dean, but I appreciate your concern.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

Castiel smiled, amused by the question. It made him look even more remarkable, tiny creases forming in the outer corners of his eyes. “I wouldn't lie to you.”

This guy was like a fucking Disney Prince – not that Dean wanted a prince or anything. He could go for a princess.

Yeah. Someone with a great rack most preferably.

“Oh – there’s something I need to ask you,” Dean started, averting his gaze and collecting together the spare rolls of gauze and other amateur medical equipment that had been tipped onto the carpet earlier. “You wouldn’t mind going along with the story I told my little brother before, would you?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel’s voice retained its monotone quality, vaguely tainted with curiosity.

“It won’t be for long! It would only be temporary. But what I mean is, that if Sam asks, can you tell him we’ve known each other for a while – that you used to work with me at the local bar?” Dean paused, looking up at the man from his cross-legged position on the floor expectantly. Castiel stared back, remaining as still as a statue. Maybe it was best to continue his little request with a grin and a more cheerful tone. “It’s just one favour, but if you don’t wanna do it, I’ll understand.”

Castiel bent forward, as far as his injuries would allow, his smile softening. “If it will make you happy, then I'll help.”

Dean’s couldn't help grinning wider. “Thanks dude!”

He threw all of the supplies back into the first aid kit before proceeding to stand up. His muscles ached, but he didn’t care.

He wanted to get to know this Castiel guy.

Dean didn’t have a considerable amount of friends; just those who he’d grown up with. Like Jo, for instance. Jo Harvelle was Ellen’s daughter, and their friendship actually helped Dean get a job at The Roadhouse in the first place. She was like a sister to him, in an annoying, obnoxious, and nosy kind of way. But she was one of the few people Dean actually trusted these days. Sure, she teased and ridiculed him quite a lot, but she was always there to listen; always there to help him if he needed it.

“Are you hungry, Cas? I was gonna start making dinner soon.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side, dark hair falling across his forehead with the motion.

“Maybe if you eat something, you’ll get your strength back,” he continued, offering a hand to the man. Castiel took it timidly, almost as if he was unsure of what he was doing. His hands were soft and delicate, gracing Dean’s palm lightly as they slid forward.

Dean pulled Castiel up from the bed slowly once he had maintained a firm grip. Cas was still kinda unsteady, but he was able to support himself without Dean’s aid.

They stood there, hands clasped together, watching each other. His line of sight was once more drawn to Castiel’s oceanic eyes. There was something different about Cas’ eyes – they were just so staggeringly attractive, much like those of the Devine. It was like the guy could stare directly into Dean’s soul.

His hand fell from Castiel’s leisurely. In all honesty, he hadn’t wanted to let go, but it would have been weird to just stand there holding hands with some stranger.

“You can wear some of my stuff for the time being,” Dean pointed to a pile of neatly folded shirts, sweaters, and jeans that had been placed in a nearby corner, because Dean had been too lazy to arrange them in his wardrobe and dresser. Owing to the fact that Castiel’s original clothes were torn and bloodied, he had no other choice but to give the guy some form of clothing. “You are okay to walk about by yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cas verified, stepping over to the small mound of outfits.

“Good. Great. Just, uhhh – just follow me when you’re ready.” He hadn’t intended to speak in an octave higher than usual – he really needed to get his shit together.

Dean opened his bedroom door, stepping out into the hall. Castiel stayed behind briefly to choose something to wear on his torso before following warily behind, keeping within close proximity of the walls in case he became unstable.

Dean waited patiently; he didn’t want Castiel to strain himself any more than he already was. This guy shouldn’t even be walking around yet, given the condition he was in only an hour ago, but he was none the less. Dean almost felt proud of him.

“You’re not in pain or anything are you? I don’t want you collapsing on me again,” Dean teased. It was a lie, of course. He wouldn’t mind having Castiel pressed against him once more.

Okay. The sexual thoughts needed to go. Right now.

“If I was, I assure you: you would be the first to know.”

Dean could feel a blush creep back into his cheeks. “Alrighty then.”

Really? ‘Alrighty’? He felt his face grow even hotter.

“What about you, Dean? How are you?” The question came as a surprise, to think that Castiel actually wanted to know how he was. Unless it was only out of politeness, which was probably the more likely option.

“I’m fine.”

Castiel lowered his head and glanced up through his dark lashes. “You would tell me if you were deficient, wouldn’t you?”

Dean just shrugged. “I guess so.” That probably wasn’t the answer Castiel was looking for, but Dean was against the whole ‘tell me how you feel’ crap. He wasn’t going to go spilling his heart to a psychiatrist, let alone someone equally as unfamiliar – no matter how attractive they were.

Castiel remained silent as they continued down the hallway, Dean going over the basics of how you make macaroni and cheese. This would be the first home-cooked meal Sam would have eaten for weeks, and even then it wasn’t exactly healthy.

They stalled outside Sam’s room, Dean popping his head in briefly to let both him and Jess know that dinner would be ready in an hour and a half. The pair were laughing when he opened the door, exchanging fond glances all the while. They would be pretty darn cute together.

Castiel stood a short distance away, resting against the wall opposite. For once, his eyes were looking elsewhere – scanning the Winchesters’ family pictures on the wall – a smile gracing his face. “How old were you in this image?” He pointed to a picture of Dean cradling a tiny infant Sam in his arms. Dean was smiling brightly, happy to finally have a little brother that he could play football with. He was considering asking how Cas knew it was him, but after looking at it himself, he realised that it was pretty fucking obvious. Sam didn’t have freckles, the lucky bastard.

“I was eight,” Dean replied quietly. The photo had been taken just a few weeks before their mother had died. Sam was only six months old at the time.

He and the kid had only visited her grave three days ago, laying down white freesias like they did every year in her memory. It had been far more difficult this time around, their dad not even showing up to pay his respects like he usually did. 

Castiel nodded in response, eyes drifting to where Dean stood watching him. The smile vanished from his face, replaced with a sad – almost knowing – expression. Probably because he could see Dean’s own: a clear display of grief and agony. He had passed this photo every day for the past fourteen years and it had never made him depressed or anything. Mary wasn't even in the picture.

“Dean, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” Castiel’s voice was gentle and soothing, a tinge of worry enveloping the last two words.

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. S’not your fault,” he murmured, ducking his head to hide his face. It was embarrassing.

He felt the hand touch his left shoulder within seconds of turning toward the staircase. It was both relaxing and reassuring, giving Dean the comfort he needed, even if it was something so simple. Castiel applied a slight amount of pressure to rotate Dean back around. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean tried to give the man a reassuring smile. “Nah, dude. I’m okay – I promise.”

He wasn’t, but he didn’t want to talk about anything so personal. It would only kick start his nightmares again.

The man’s eyes flickered to the centre of Dean’s chest and back, expression understanding and sympathetic. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry Cas – I mean, this must be so friggin' awkward for you right now,” he said with a breathy laugh.

“I don't find the situation awkward, Dean,” Castiel’s voice was subdued and soft. “And you don't need to apologise for being human.”

 

*

 

Getting Castiel to help with the cooking proved to be a tad bit more difficult than Dean had hoped for. It was like, even the tasks suitable for children to complete were a struggle for him, and Dean found himself growing more and more frustrated every minute he spent trying to explain what to do.

“No! Look, like this – okay?” Dean demonstrated the simple task of grating cheese. Again.

Castiel looked as puzzled as he had the first time round. It had been kinda cute to begin with, y’know? Cas acting like he had literally never seen a cheese grater before.

“I was performing the task in exactly the same way as you have just established. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Dean ran a rough hand over his face in exasperation. This guy ...

“How about you wash the dishes and I’ll finish this up?” Dean suggested, taking the grater gently from Castiel’s hands again as he pushed the block of cheese hard against its surface. He was trying not to get infuriated because Cas was basically a guest in their house, and to shout at him would be kinda rude.

Castiel looked confused for a moment, but then he nodded and smiled, stepping back to push up the sleeves of the old sweater he’d chosen to wear. It looked good on him – Dean didn’t really wear sweaters himself so it was relatively new on – but it was kinda big, hanging loose off the guy’s frame.

Made him look even younger, in a way: swamped in oversized clothing.

“So,” Dean began, watching his companion plunge his hands into the soapy water, splashing slightly as he chased the cutlery that rested at the bottom of the basin. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

The guy glanced over briefly, drawing out a plate to rinse it beneath the tap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you were lying in the stadium with a bunch of cuts on your chest,” he continued, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel as he stepped closer, placing his palm on Castiel’s shoulder. “How'd that come about exactly?”

Castiel looked a little frightened, so Dean took a step back again, knowing just how uncomfortable it was to have someone invade his personal space. He wasn’t sure whether it was the memory of such an event or the whole closeness thing, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“I don’t remember,” Cas confessed, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I’m ... I’m sorry if my lack of knowledge is an inconvenience.”

“No, no – you don’t have to be sorry!” He turned Castiel so that they were standing face to face. Droplets of water scattered themselves across Dean’s shirt and skin from the sudden movement. “I mean, you’re probably suffering from amnesia or something right now, so don’t apologise for something you have no control of. Me and Sam are gonna help you out.”

A smile ghosted over Castiel’s face as he dipped his head in what Dean could only assume was embarrassment. It was cute.

 _Cas_  was cute.

“Dean, you're very kind. Thank you for helping me,” Castiel mumbled, line of sight still fixated on the floor.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at how adorable this guy was. “That’s alright, man.”

With that, he nudged Castiel lightly as he released his grip from his companion's shoulder, smiling to himself. He returned to the cheese grater, resuming his earlier task whilst Castiel attended to the dishes. They worked in companionable silence, occasionally engaging in brief eye-contact. Dean could feel that warm sensation in his stomach again, mild, but pleasant all the same.

 

*

 

Castiel sat beside Dean on the sofa to eat, relatively close for someone who was still pretty much a stranger. Not that Dean minded, of course, and anyway, they were playing the part of ‘old friends’ so it made it that little bit more believable. Sam and Jess were on the floor in front of the crappy TV they owned, watching some comedy nerd show.

The mac and cheese was great. Even if saying so made Dean sound modest, he didn’t care. He was proud of himself.

And obviously, Cas helped as well, so the dude could have  _some_  of the credit.

Castiel kept glancing over at him. The looks weren’t entirely obvious, but every so often Dean would notice the slight movement from the corner of his own eyes, Castiel’s irises acting like tiny blue beacons of light.

The man was taking things extremely well for someone who was surrounded by strangers and told to lie about a supposed friendship. It was actually kinda discomforting.

“Oh, Dean – I forgot to ask you!” Sam chirped abruptly, turning around to face the two men. “In about half an hour would you be able to drop Jess home?”

“If it’s not too much to ask, that is,” Jess added quickly, going a little pink.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Jess smiled, standing up with her cleared plate. “Umm, should I put this back in the kitchen?”

“Nah, Jess, I’ll do it,” Sam said, gently taking the crockery from her hands and placing it atop his own.

“Well would you look at that. Sam knows how to be a perfect gentleman,” Dean teased, leaning back into the settee’s cushions.

“Shut up, Dean!” The boy laughed as he retrieved both Dean and Castiel’s plates from the surface of the coffee table, using his long, gangly limbs to their full advantage.

Jess smiled politely on her way out of the room, Sam close behind.

“Kids these days ...” Dean murmured as he reached for the remote. “Do you wanna watch TV for the next half hour or something?”

“I don’t mind, Dean.”

Channel surfing wasn’t too successful, seeing as nothing really interesting was on. There wasn’t actually much else to do, other than watching TV and Cas looked a little uncomfortable staring at the tiny screen.

“Okay then,” Dean decided, turning off the television. “C’mon.”

Dean rose from the sofa, stretching slowly. He could see Castiel’s eyes flicker to the strip of skin exposed by his elevated shirt.

“Cas, you coming?” He lowered his arms, fabric falling back into place.

Castiel stood up, wobbling a little. “Where?”

Dean thought about it for a moment. “Outside?”

It had been incredibly stuffy in the house, and fresh air wouldn’t hurt.

“If you'd like me to accompany you, then yes,” Castiel smiled, stepping a little closer to him.

Dean could feel his cock twitch slightly in his pants, pressing against the material of his jeans. All he could do was grin stupidly down at the dark haired man in an attempt to control himself. The things he could do to this guy ...

Okay, so maybe he did like Cas a little. That didn’t mean he was gonna go all predatory gay on his ass, as nice as his ass may be.

Not that he’d looked or anything.

“Dean? Are we not going outside?”

“Oh! Yeah of course,” Dean garbled as he backed up, turning frantically when Castiel tried to meet his eyes again.

What happened to being smooth and suave? He’d never had this much trouble with chicks!

Then again he’d had more experience with women. He was still new to the whole ‘dating guys’ kinda thing.

Dean had been contemplating his sexuality for a while, and he’d been out with some pretty decent dudes a few times. They were considerably nicer than the whores he’d been stupid enough to date back in high school anyway.

He definitely wanted to know Cas better before even thinking about relationships and the like.

The air outside danced along his arms, gracing his skin with its icy fingers. He sat down on the rotting top step of the porch, staring down the street. It always looked better in the dark. The trash was barely visible. Every so often, you would see the slightest glimpse of artificial light reflecting off of the metal cans and foils that littered the area, and it actually looked kind of pretty.

The creaking beside him alerted Dean to the fact that Castiel had now joined him on the step, merely an inch away.

Three hours. They had known each other for a measly  _three_  hours, and already Dean was developing feelings for this guy. And hell, he didn’t know anything about Castiel, aside from his name.

Dean turned to face the dark haired man. Castiel was staring up at the star-lit sky, facial features highlighted by a nearby street lamp. The colours were soft and complementary, making Castiel’s cheek bones more prominent in the contrast. The guy really was striking.

“Dean, may I ask you a question?”

“Was that the question?” Dean joked. Yes, it was lame, but fuck almighty was he anxious. Conversation had never really been his strong point, and Castiel had proved to be kinda challenging to talk to about pretty much everything. It was mildly infuriating, but if the guy was actually initiating conversation this time, then Dean was more than happy to oblige.

“No,” Castiel responded gruffly, almost like he was annoyed.

Dean grinned at his irritated companion. “Go on then.”

Castiel bowed his head, dropping his gaze to observe the ants that scattered themselves about the bottom step in the dim lighting.

“Why do you care for your brother alone?”

Dean had been asked this question multiple times over the past few months, but this answer wasn’t like the rehearsed, happiness-and-rainbows version he’d used in previous conversations with the neighbours. He decided to tell the honest version – because Cas was just some guy with amnesia, and he had no one else to enlighten without social services getting involved.

“Our dad ditched us about three months ago. No note or anything, just got up and left. After raiding our wallets, that is.” Dean couldn’t help sounding pissed, his hands trembling with anger at the memory. “Even took the money Sam had saved up from his birthday earlier in the year. Kid had at least $300 hidden away.”

Since they had such a crappy little house, Dean finally got his own bedroom after sharing a room with Sam for the past ten years, his younger brother vowing that John wouldn’t be welcome should he return. Dean didn’t necessarily agree with Sam’s decision, but he hadn’t really complained either. John wasn’t exactly the most supportive parent.

Dean had thrown out all of the drunk’s clothes, as well as his own crappy bed now that he had a larger mattress to sleep on, burning it all in the front yard. Sure, people complained about how much worse the ash pile made the street look, but he didn’t really give a fuck. It was his garden. He could do what he wanted.

Castiel placed a hand atop Dean’s own, stalling the movement. His skin began to feel cooler beneath Castiel’s delicate touch. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“Why?” Dean laughed appreciatively. Or was it just nerves? He really couldn’t tell anymore.

“You are raising your brother on your own. Is it not difficult? You’re still very young.” He raised his head, searching for Dean’s eyes sympathetically. “You shouldn’t have to deal with such a task at your age.”

“I would do anything for Sammy. He’s all I have, y’know? And he’s  _so_  smart – I’m just trying to give him the life he deserves.” He paused, smiling softly to himself. “Whatever he wants to do with his life, I wanna help him achieve it. He’s gonna be so successful – I just _know_  it!”

Castiel nodded, shifting his line-of-sight down the gloomy street. “If I offered you assistance, would you accept?”

Dean was taken aback, mouth hanging open slightly as he searched for an appropriate response. “Y-you want to help?”

“Yes.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. He couldn’t accept money from a stranger, no matter how nice they were. It would be wrong.

He’d turned Bobby away, accepting the job offer – but even then that was way too much. Dean hadn’t even gotten the right qualifications to have even been considered for work at the garage, but he had needed some way of keeping on top of everything. Along with that and the late night shifts at The Roadhouse, Dean managed to make an okay amount of money – enough to keep them above the threat of repossession, at least - although there had been a few times where he’d skipped buying his medication so that Sam could eat lunch at the school cafeteria. That was around the time when he’d first started working to make up for their father’s absence, and he hadn’t realised just how difficult it was to manage  _all_  the bills.

“Why are you laughing?” Castiel moved his hand, placing it behind him to act as a support. His eyebrows had knitted together as he tried to understand the situation.

“Because you’re so cute!” Dean blurted, freezing almost immediately as the heat crawled up the back of his neck. Had he  _really_  just said that?

“I ... I mean – fuck – you’re ... uhhh, you ... “

Castiel shot him a quizzical look, tilting his head deftly to the right, hair falling across his forehead gracefully in the process. It only lived up to Dean’s observation, making a warmth seep through his chest.

But what the hell was he meant to say now that Cas was expecting some sort of explanation? The guy looked just as confused as Dean felt flustered, an almost concerned expression on his features. “You think I’m –“

“Dean? You outside?” Sam shouted, swinging open the front door. It made a harsh clattering sound as it hit the crumbling exterior of the house and Dean cursed under his breath at the sudden noise. “Oh hey! Can you drop Jess back now? Or in like five minutes – that’s fine too.”

Jessica stood awkwardly in the corridor, staring down at her red sneakers. Dean aimed a smile in her direction, just in case she chose to look up anytime soon.

“Y-yeah, of course! Could you get the keys for me then, Sammy?”

He owed Sam for that.  _Big-time_. Even if it wasn’t intentional. Castiel would probably bring it up later, but for now they wouldn’t have to talk about it. Dean had noticed that Cas became significantly quieter when Sam was present. Even when they were eating dinner, he hadn’t said anything.

It was understandable, of course. Cas was surrounded by strangers. Dean was just grateful the guy talked to him, feeling slightly privileged.

The kid fumbled through the bowl on the bureau, drawing out the keys by their Mario key chain. Maybe it was a little immature, but it didn’t stop it from being awesome.

Dean faced Cas again. He could feel the heat of his cheeks from his earlier state. “You coming, or do you wanna stay here?”

“Cas can ride shotgun,” Sam suggested as he passed by the pair. “Me and Jess can sit in the back.”

“You, uh. You alright with that, buddy?” Dean asked the other man, rising up off of the porch steps. He wasn’t comfortable with leaving Cas alone at their house anyway in case he was a thief or something. Dean doubted that fact, but he still shouldn’t take any chances – and anyway, it wouldn’t hurt for Cas to go with them. There was more than enough room in the impala, and Dean loved flaunting his beloved car to everyone he met.

“Yes,” Castiel replied in a rather subdued fashion, mimicking Dean’s actions. Cas wasn’t exactly stable, rocking forward precariously. Dean threw out his arms to catch the guy should he fall, but Castiel steadied himself, throwing Dean a tight smile as he tugged his sweater down over those dark dress pants he was wearing. His whole attire looked a little weird, but in a way it was fitting. From what Dean had seen of him, Cas  _was_  weird.

Dean had kept the trench coat for him, just in case Cas wanted it back later or something. The shirt and tie, however, had been completely ruined, so those had gone straight in the trash. Dean figured he’d let Cas know about that when their conversation wasn’t bordering on some sort of awkward and uncomfortable talk about feelings.

He waltzed over to his precious vehicle, running his hand along the roof before unlocking the driver’s seat. Both the interior and exterior were in pristine condition. No marks or scratches, no tears in the leather seats – it was exactly how a classic car should remain.

Once everyone was seated in the car (Cas looking really fucking unsure about what he was expected to do), Dean started up the engine, grinning as the throaty purr resounded throughout their driveway, echoing along the street.

The journey to Jessica’s home was fairly pleasant. She lived in a nicer part of town – free of satanic rituals and creepy kids.

Dean had always wanted to live in this ‘nicer’ area, noting how clean it was in terms of the lack of trash and used needles – things like that. It would probably be safer for Sam should the kid want to go hang outside with his friends. Dean knew that another one of Sam’s friends, Andy Gallagher, lived somewhere around here too. It would probably be more efficient if they moved here, if it wasn’t for the crippling prices of such large properties. They’d probably end up eating out of trash cans for several years to pay off the mortgage, and even then the payment wouldn’t be complete.

The house they owned at the moment was pretty run down; aside from the woodwork and furniture Dean had made to furnish several rooms with. He’d made the kitchen table and the few chairs that matched it. He was proud of his work, but he didn’t like to say he’d made any of it to the few guests that came round. He didn’t need to make them sound any poorer than they already appeared.

But yeah, the house wouldn’t go for much if Dean decided to put it up for sale. He’d thought about it a lot, trying to decorate the interior so it would look a little more appealing, but even then, that cost money, and Dean couldn’t really afford to splurge on something so unimportant right now. They had a roof over their heads, and that was all that mattered.

“So which one’s yours then?” Dean asked, glancing back at the girl briefly in the rear-view mirror as he changed gears.

“Oh – it’s the penultimate one, on the right hand side,” Jess smiled nervously back at him.

Dean pulled up on the sidewalk, both high-schoolers emerging from the car; Sam walking Jess to the door.

Castiel sat muted in the passenger seat, smoothing out the creases in his clothing and scanning the street.

It was a somewhat comfortable silence they shared together, Dean restraining himself from looking across at the other man. He’d already made it awkward enough by calling the guy cute. He didn’t exactly want to be caught gawking at him too.

He shut his eyes, listening to the sound of rustling leaves that grazed the tarmac road in the wind. Dean loved this time of year.

Running in this sort of temperament was great too, because there wasn’t the threat of overheating or getting super dehydrated or anything. And less people started walking the same route he ran, so there wasn’t that constant bustle around the stadium as he tried to get past.

Yeah. Autumn was probably his favourite season.

The rear door slammed abruptly as Sam re-entered the car, and Dean opened his eyes again to see a satisfied smile plastered to the kid’s face through the rear-view mirror.

“Well, she seemed lovely,” Dean began, rotating round in his seat to face the younger boy. “You want to invite her round again sometime?”

Sam ducked his head as he tried to restrain a smile, shrugging as a faint pink colour spread about his cheeks. “Maybe _._ ”

Knowing his brother, that was a definite ‘yes’.

 

*

 

Dean found the spare blankets at the back of the closet, concealed beneath towels and various items of un-ironed clothing. He really needed to reorganise everything.

He made his way back to the living room, laying out a couple of pillows at one end of the couch and placing the crumpled blankets at the other, running a hand along the surface in an attempt to smarm down the wrinkled fabric. The lamp in the far corner was dim, providing just enough light to let Dean see what he was doing, whilst creating a warmer atmosphere.

Dean had insisted that Castiel slept in his bed, owing to the fact that Dean knew his bed was far more comfortable than their crummy sofa. Cas was hurt. Hell, it would probably worsen his injuries if he slept on this piece of shit.

Although he had set up his new living quarters, Dean wasn’t tired yet, having been used to staying up till at least 1am each night because of work at The Roadhouse. There was no need for him to go to college tomorrow either. He never had classes on Fridays.

Dean sat down carefully, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. The image was static at first, lazily developing into a clearer picture. Family Guy came into view. It wasn’t the sort of show he’d go out of his way to watch, but it wasn’t bad. Just sorta offensive on occasion.

He relaxed, sinking back into a more agreeable position and removing his shoes with a couple of flicks of his feet. This was the sort of relaxed air he missed, what with working the majority of his free time away. Not long now till he passed his degree. Then he could relax a little more.

It was selfish really, thinking about what he could do if he wasn’t working. He needed the money for Sam’s well being. That was way more important than an extra hour or so of sleep.

A crude joke brought him out of his thoughts, causing Dean to smile stupidly to himself. It felt weird not having Sam in the room to watch it too – that’s what they usually do on a Saturday night. Watch shit TV without having to worry about much else. So what if Sam wasn’t considered old enough to watch ‘Family Guy’ or ‘SouthPark’ or whatever else aired over a Saturday evening? Sam was smart enough to get the jokes, and kids these days were generally exposed to a lot worse, so ...

“Dean.”

Castiel stood in the doorway leading from the hall into the living room, dressed in a pair of black jogging bottoms and a faded grey shirt that Dean had grown out of. He looked so childish and small; baggy clothes hanging off his slender frame.

“Oh hey, Cas! You wanna watch TV?” Dean beamed across at him, moving the blankets off the second cushion and dumping them on his own lap.

“You want me to join you?” Castiel asked in confirmation, resting back against the door frame and meeting Dean’s stare directly.

“Hey, man, it’s your choice. I don’t mind either way,” Dean grinned, flashing his teeth.

Cas walked over slowly, his sock clad feet making a melodious padding noise against the wooden floorboards as he crossed the room. Dean searched Castiel’s face for even the slightest expression, any giveaway to how the guy was feeling. Yes, Castiel was beautiful – in a manly, very attractive and masculine sort of way, might he add – but his facial expressions were so puzzling, almost like the guy was struggling to convey emotion altogether.

Cas seated himself on the edge of the cushion, gaze travelling to his own pair of hands as he fiddled with the drawstrings of the loose-fitting pants. Dean averted his eyes, chasing away certain thoughts that had begun to occupy his mind.

He turned his attention back to the television for distraction. He didn’t want to look like he was ignoring Cas, but he also didn’t want to make the guy feel uncomfortable. They hadn’t brought up the incident on the porch yet, which was probably for the best. Dean didn’t want to make a fool out of himself again.

The weight on the cushions shifted slightly, so Dean glanced over to see Castiel leaning back into the settee, looking at peace with a hint of a smile on his face. His eyes had shut, eyelashes resting daintily on his porcelain cheeks and casting sharp shadows across his bone structure.

Dean shouldn’t have such strong feelings for someone he didn’t even know. Cas just had this  _thing_  about him.

The credits appeared on the television screen, accompanying the obnoxious theme tune, and Castiel’s eyes fluttered open once more, bright despite the poor artificial lighting. They met Dean’s curious gaze and Castiel’s smile deepened, giving Dean that glorious feeling in his chest again.

“You can’t sleep in here. If you’re tired, go to bed.” Dean prompted, but he couldn’t help but return the smile, hoping that Castiel would stay just a little longer.

“I’m not tired Dean. I like spending time with you.” Castiel’s voice was soft and syrupy; Dean could practically taste the words as they were being spoken.

Yeah. He wanted Cas.

Dean could feel his face burning up again and he twisted away to hide his embarrassment from the other man.

“You, uhhh. You want a beer?” Dean asked hastily, getting up and making his way to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

A breeze rolled in through the open window above the sink, cool and refreshing against his flushed face. He pulled two beers from the refrigerator, pressing one to his forehead, welcoming the icy burn that enveloped his skin.

Castiel was making everything so difficult. Dean had never been so attracted to such a strange individual before. He'd honestly never fallen for someone so quickly without the aid of alcohol.

Sure, the guy was nice: he'd been honest (that Dean knew of) and he'd been kind – hell, he even enjoyed Dean’s company. That was pretty much an added bonus. But Dean didn’t know Castiel well enough to conclude what this guy would be like all the time. They’d only just met for crying out loud!

He didn’t know why all of this was bothering him. He’d dated girls without even knowing their names first, and here he was thinking up poor excuses that had never stopped him before. The only real issue he could think of was that there was still a fairly high chance that Castiel was straight. There was no point chasing something he could never have. All he could really do was wait – and pray that Castiel stuck around long enough for Dean to get to know him a little better.

Dean removed the bottle from his temple, wincing at the dull pain that increased as the beer was peeled away from his skin. He walked briskly back to the living room, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand in an attempt to soothe the affected area, before flinging himself back into his previous seat on the couch. Castiel jumped, from both the sudden change in weight on the cushions and Dean’s reappearance.

“Sorry, dude. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean apologised, handing Cas a beer after swiftly removing the bottle cap.

Castiel took the drink warily in his hands. “That’s alright, Dean. And thank you.”

“No problem-o,” Dean sighed, leaning back to support his head on the arm rest. The television had gone static again, the audio an offensive crackling what with it being a shitty model and all. Dean'd had to pick this out at a secondhand store to replace the one their dad had knocked off the stand, and even though it still had cable, and everything their last TV had had, there'd be occassions like _this_ where it would just stop working altogether, and Dean was still clueless as to how to fix it.

He pressed the power button on the remote, and the grey mess shrunk into the centre, concealed in darkness.

“So,” Dean began, taking a swig of his beer. The drink ran smoothly down his throat with that wonderfully invigorating sting that only the cheapest alcoholic drinks possessed. “Any memories come back to you yet?”

Castiel brought the bottle up to his lips as he saw Dean do just before, if not slower. He sipped the liquid cautiously, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down elusively with each gulp that followed.

Dean turned his gaze to his own bottle to keep him focused. Condensation ran down the neck, collecting where his fingers met the glass.

“Dean, I need to tell you som -”

Castiel cut himself short and clamped his eyes shut, rubbing his brow with his free hand. His face was tinged with red, a flush that looked almost painful.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean inquired cautiously; eyes raking over Castiel’s darkened skin.

 “I – I don’t feel very well.”

Dean sat up and shuffled closer to the other man. “In what way? What’s wrong exactly?” He reached out a hand tentatively, placing the back of it against Castiel’s forehead.

“Jesus Christ!” He pulled back from the heat instantaneously and grabbed the man’s beer, pressing the cool bottle to Castiel’s face as he rose up from the sofa once more. “Stay right here, okay – and keep that against your head!” Dean ordered running back into the kitchen. He filled a small bowl with water and ice, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the drawer before carrying it carefully with both hands back to the living room, walking as fast as he could without spilling the liquid.

Castiel looked up at him as he entered, eyes anxious and dark. The pain was still evident in his features; though it was clear the man was trying to hide his distress.

Dean kneeled beside the settee. “Lie down, Cas,” he prompted, dipping the flannel into the bowl momentarily and wringing out the excess water. Castiel did as he was instructed, removing the glass bottle and placing it on the coffee table.

Dean proceeded to wrap several ice cubes within the fabric before resting the cloth against Cas’ forehead. He used to do this for Sammy whenever the kid broke out into a fever, mainly because John refused to take him to the doctor, or even buy some form of medicine to take away the edge.

“Does that help?” He couldn’t help sounding shaky. It would be his fault if Cas got really ill from a lack of professional medical care.

Castiel closed his eyes, chapped lips parting slightly as he exhaled. “Yes. Thank you, Dean.”

Water droplets descended down the side of Cas’ face as the ice begun to melt, journeying toward his jaw. Dean plucked a few tissues from the box on the table, wiping the trails left behind by the liquid.

“It’s just not your day, is it?” Dean murmured, dabbing at Castiel’s brow. The other man smiled weakly in response but he didn’t reply immediately. Instead, Cas’ eyes fluttered open again, grazing Dean’s face with their blatant intensity. He reached out a pale hand, placing his palm against Dean’s cheek. “You are a kind man, Dean Winchester,” Castiel said slowly, his voice low and soothing.

The touch was warm and comforting, providing Dean with fond memories of his mother and how she would use similar gestures before tucking him in at night.

“You need to rest, okay?” He pulled away from the dark haired man reluctantly, smiling in genuine apology. “C’mon. I’m still not gonna let you sleep on the couch.”

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Cas muttered, drawing his hand back in to shift the cloth on his temple. His long fingers cradled the fabric as it was dragged across the heated skin. “I don’t want to move.”

“Stubborn sonofabitch,” Dean teased, giving Castiel’s shoulder a brief squeeze at he stood to stretch his legs. He grabbed the two pillows from where he had dumped them earlier.

“Lift your head up for a sec,” he said softly, sliding the padding beneath Castiel’s damp cranium in an attempt to make the guy more comfortable. Dean advanced on the blanket, delicately draping the crumpled mess over Cas’ thin frame. One should be enough, until the guy’s temperature decreased again. “You sure you want to stay here? The bed’s way more comfortable?”

“I’m fine thank you, Dean,” Cas sighed, eyelids drooping heavily as his head sunk into the pillow.

“Right, just to make things clear. You have any problems at all, headaches, fevers – whatever – just come get me. I’ll be in my room, okay?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome – I’ll let you rest then.” He turned the lamp off on his way to the hallway. The room wasn’t completely dark, as a vague artificial light glistened through the crack in the curtains. “Night Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

 


	2. He's Got the Fire and the Fury

 

All the angels  
They start to sing  
All about Jesus' mighty sword  
And they'll shield you with their wings  
People they'll keep you close to the Lord

_Tom Waits_

 

 

Castiel awoke to a heavy throb in his forehead and a dull pain at the back of his eyes. The light filtering through the living room curtains didn’t help matters, spilling onto his face with a gentle warmth despite its intensity. Adapting to this form was proving to be rather arduous – never before had this body been so difficult to control.

And never before had he experienced such a consistent pain.

He groaned pathetically, burying his face into the lumpy pillow that supported his head in an attempt to ease the headache. It was frustrating; not having the ability to sooth such an ache any longer.

Castiel could hear the tuneless whistling drift through from the kitchen, accompanied by a shrill clattering of metal. It rung through his ears like the tortured screams of demons, clawing at the inside of his skull. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut briefly, wincing in agony.

Such effects would subside eventually – perhaps not imminently, but hopefully soon.

“Hey, dude, you awake?” Dean strolled past the makeshift bed, red faced and flustered, swiping his damp hands on his shirt to remove the water. “Sorry if I woke you up, by the way. Dishes needed doing ...” Dean trailed off, his eyes meeting Castiel’s own. “Did you want breakfast? I can make toast if you want it – or there’s fruit! But, y’know, you should eat something, for strength and all.”

The man was rambling. It was rather endearing, knowing that Dean cared about his well being,

“If you think it will help me, then yes,” Castiel murmured, propping himself up on his elbows. His head swam and he could feel his eyes lose focus as the dizzying effect took hold.

“You feeling any better?” Dean questioned, pressing the back of a hand to Castiel’s temple. Even the slightest touch sent sparks flying throughout Castiel’s body, producing a warm and appealing sensation to occur in his chest. He hadn't expected to have had such a reaction when coming into contact with the man, but he still wasn't used to his current condition.

It appeared that the lack of both his wings and his Grace had forced his body to become frail and uncooperative, not to mention difficult to remain steady. He had appeared weak in front of a man that he had so very desperately wanted to impress. But, nonetheless, Dean had accepted him, allowing him to stay in the Winchester residence in exchange for lying to his younger sibling. It was a ridiculous negotiation, but ultimately harmless.

He had already offered assistance, to help Dean deal with all that happens around him more easily. The man hadn’t responded to such a request, but Castiel would persist, knowing just how much weight Dean had resting on his shoulders and how much easier it would make the man’s life should he accept the help.

“I’m feeling fine. Thank you for asking.” He stood up, pushing away the clingy fabric that covered his body and touching Dean’s wrist ever so gently to remove it from his brow as he stood. His vision spun and he grabbed hastily at Dean’s shirt as his legs gave way beneath him, panic washing over his senses.

It was happening again and he felt drained and uneasy, incapable of working his muscles as his limbs felt heavy and somehow sharp, like dozens of thin instruments were piercing the flesh.

Why did it have to happen  _now?_

Dean’s arms were around him within seconds, supporting him with a surprising ease as Castiel found himself pressed comfortably to the human’s chest. As reassuring as it was to have Dean hold him up, Castiel had begun to feel a strange itch beneath his skin and a heat blossom on his cheeks.

The situation produced a slight uneasiness. He hadn’t realised that he would require Dean’s aid to even stand up properly. He must look like such a fool ...

“So much for feeling fine, huh?” Dean remarked, and Castiel struggled to recover a decent stance – one that did not involve their bodies touching so awkwardly. He could feel the taut muscle beneath Dean’s clothing, pressed to Castiel’s fingertips as he scrabbled to get a better hold.

The man laughed lightly and Castiel could sense himself becoming irritated that Dean had found his weakness to be so amusing.

“I  _am_  feeling fine,” he huffed, pushing against his companion’s torso to steady himself and glancing away to hide his face. The burning on his cheeks wouldn’t go away so he scowled; annoyed that he had appeared so pathetic once more.

His vision was no longer distorted and he was able to take in his surroundings, the neat furniture more distinguishable now that his head was beginning to adjust. The giddiness made him sway a little, but the strength had returned to his legs and they were no longer numb and uncooperative.

The atmosphere was somewhat discomforting when Castiel pulled away entirely, stepping back out of Dean’s path. He only prayed that he hadn’t upset the man with his perturbed state, and that Dean would forgive him for being so ridiculous. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he muttered, staring down at the smooth, wooden floor boards beneath his feet.

“No, no. It’s cool,” Dean said softly. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Castiel scowled again. That was meant to be  _his_  job.  _He_  was meant to be looking after Dean. This wasn’t how he’d imagined it to be at all.

“You are okay now, right?”

Castiel nodded lazily in response, lifting his gaze to watch the human warily.

“Awesome!” Dean grinned, tugging on Castiel’s sleeve a little as he waltzed back to the kitchen. Castiel kept close, but not so much as for them to be touching.

The room smelt pleasant – everything did. That included Dean’s unique scent: it was musky and peculiar, but it was nice all the same.

“Will Sam be eating with us?” Castiel asked, genuinely curious as to whether the younger Winchester would be around to converse with. He hadn’t talked to the boy much as of yet, but he hoped that they would become better acquainted sometime in the near future.

“No, he’s at school right now – should be back about four though,” Dean smiled, twisting his torso round so that they were facing each other.

Castiel looked up to meet Dean’s emerald stained irises. At this, Dean’s smile evolved into a grin that revealed that set of perfectly straight teeth, freckles dancing as the muscles used to produce such a facial expression became taut beneath his tan skin.

Dean Winchester was one of those humans that others would consider  _attractive –_  or  _beautiful_ , for that matter. Even his soul was bright and exquisite, reflecting his equally as delightful personality.

Castiel glanced around them, taking in the cream coloured walls and the various utensils that were gathered in the far left corner by the stove just beneath the window. The counter top beside the sink was decorated with freshly cleaned dishes, surface gleaming in the light filtered through the window. They had a nice kitchen; a small round table in the centre of the room, accompanied by four chairs that matched the same style; large wooden cabinets fixed to the painted walls, glossy with varnish – Dean kept the home in very good condition to say the least.

"Have you eaten yet, Dean?"

"Nah," the man mumbled, guiding him over to the table. "I was waiting for you."

Castiel liked the attention he was receiving from his companion. He'd never thought that Dean would warm to him so quickly.

"So, anyway. What do you want?" Dean pressed, pulling out the chair for him.

"Whatever you're having," Castiel replied, sitting down cautiously and placing his hands in his lap. He didn't want to make things difficult for the man, and he was fairly certain that anything Dean gave him would be edible. Castiel didn't care what it was, so long as it would provide him with suitable sustenance.

The human smirked. "If only everyone else I knew had the same approach to food as you do. They're all so fussy." Dean dropped two pieces of bread into a peculiar machine; a silver exterior with a black lever that lowered the food deeper into the contraption. It was amazing really, knowing that these creatures were so intelligent that they could make such devices to aid their everyday life. Humans had evolved so much, in terms of both communication and wit, and it had been incredible to observe such a change.

Castiel continued to watch Dean's actions as the human filled two cups with a dark brown liquid, capturing every movement with his eyes. He looked away every time the man found him staring; discomposed at the thought that he had been caught admiring Dean's physique.

"So what was it you were gonna tell me last night?" Dean queried, setting down a mug that smelt strong and bitter in front of Castiel, sipping his own. "Unless you forgot."

Castiel took hold of the hot china, bringing it close to his lips and blowing onto the drink in an attempt to cool it. "I don't really remember ... I'm sorry," he lied. He'd decided it was a little too soon to announce his former angelic self, considering Dean had not completely adjusted to his company just yet.

For a long while now he'd wanted to meet Dean. There had been a few of humans in his charge before, but his bond with Dean was different and he needed to make up for the time he’d spent rendered useless.

He didn't really consider withholding that kind of information as lying - not when he had every intention of telling Dean the truth later on in their relationship - but he still wasn't entirely comfortable with it, knowing that it wasn't particularly fair to keep Dean in the dark when he truly deserved to know.

"That's okay, man. We'll get you through this eventually."

There was a very sudden noise, low and fast, causing Castiel to jolt in surprise. The man laughed softly, patting Castiel's shoulder before walking back over to the small machine, retrieving the slices of bread and dropping them onto a clean plate. "Is one piece enough, or do you want two?"

"One is fine thank you, Dean."

They exchanged brief conversation whilst they ate, sitting opposite each other at the wooden table. Castiel asked about Dean's work places, even though he knew all the details already, just to hear the man speak. Dean had a nice voice: relatively deep and husky at times, and it was a sound Castiel had come to like.

He avoided asking about Dean's father and mother, knowing all too well that Dean would not be too fond of those conversations - and besides, Dean shouldn't be trusting Castiel with such private information when Dean barely knew him. It was a topic that they would have to cover eventually though, no matter how much the man wanted to forget. It would only lead to progression.

Dean was right about food having a positive impact on his body. He didn’t feel as ill anymore, and his headache was significantly toned down; a mere pulse against his temple every so often, but it wasn’t particularly painful. It was more like a nonchalant reminder that Castiel was actually here. That he was finally with Dean.

After finishing the re-baked bread, or 'toast' as Dean called it, they sat together in the living room in front of the television once more. Castiel was a little hurt by the fact that Dean had thought that watching the strange box was more amusing than conversing with him, but Dean could do whatever he wanted. Castiel wouldn't complain.

"You wanna play Mario Kart?" The man chirped suddenly, freezing the image on the television screen. Castiel glanced over at him, adjusting his position on the settee so that he could face Dean fully.

"What is it?"

"It's a video game. You race each other, and it’s pretty awesome."

"A-alright," Castiel smiled, albeit vaguely confused as to why Dean wanted to waste his time with something just as pointless as watching television.

Dean stood up, beckoning Castiel to follow him.

They searched Dean's bedroom for a second controller: a white rectangular device with several small buttons gracing its shiny surface. The man had shown him what it looked like before setting out to check Sam's room also.

Castiel scouted beneath the bed, drawing out a multitude of tangled cables with various items caught up within the web. Right at the back, a familiar item caught his eye. An item that should not have been in any human's possession, let alone Dean's.

His blade.

He reached out, gripping the handle tightly as he rolled back out from beneath the mattress. The weapon began to glow with a faded blue colour, sending energy coursing through Castiel's veins when he clutched it tighter.

This should not have been on earth.

"Dean?" Castiel called, rising to his feet as he twirled the smooth sword about between his hands.

The human strolled through the doorway within seconds of Castiel shouting his name, a hopeful expression lining his features. "Did you find it?" Dean stopped when he looked at Castiel's hands, hope turning to vague confusion. "Oh that's cool. I didn't know that thing could light up."

"Where did you get this?" Castiel asked quietly.

Dean looked a little taken aback, brow furrowing. "You can have it if you want. I found it at the stadium a few days ago so it’s not mine anyway."

Castiel hadn't brought it with him, so was this Michael's doing? A pathetic attempt at getting him to rejoin the Garrison, to have his Grace restored to its full potential? At the moment, his blade was the closest thing he had to his Grace. It was almost like the essence he could never destroy - an extension of his true form, much like his wings.

Well, obviously his wings had been compressed into this body, hidden from view so not to cause distress for those around him.

"Are you okay, Cas?" Dean asked, resting a hand on his shoulder gently. "You look a little pale."

Castiel found Dean's eyes, surprisingly closer to his than he had expected. It was too soon, wasn't it? Too soon to tell the man.

But would this be better than lying to him for weeks on end, waiting for the right time? Dean had a rather quick temper, so perhaps he would only be angered to find out that Castiel hadn't been entirely honest about who he was. He wanted Dean to know - Dean had the right to know.

Of course, this would be fairly surprising for Dean, so perhaps he would discuss half the situation now, and the other half later, just so Dean could come to terms with everything Castiel was about to say. To bombard the man with such information wouldn’t be fair, no matter how important it was.

"Can we sit down for a minute please, Dean?" Castiel requested, slumping down onto the bedspread without waiting for an answer. He suddenly felt weak and uneasy again, uncomfortable with the decision at hand.

"Shit, you're not gonna pass out or anything are you?" Dean asked. The man looked worried, crouching down in front of him and shifting his hand to Castiel's knee. "Do you want to lie down? Would that be better?"

Castiel smiled down at him, shaking his head lightly. "N-no, I ... I need to talk to you."

Actually, he could  _show_  Dean. Explaining it to the man would be a little like teaching poetry to fish. He'd never been good in terms of socialization, and the actual concept of preaching to a human in order to explain such matters would most likely worsen the aftermath; so maybe having his blade back in his possession wasn't too bad, just slightly risky.

Dean just nodded, sitting back to get more comfortable on the floor. His hand stayed resting against Castiel's leg.

"Now, I know you are most likely not going to believe me, because you have next to no faith," he began, watching the creases reappear on the man's brow, "But I'm an angel of the Lord."

He waited for Dean to explode with blasphemous comments, or an assortment of insults, much like he had seen the human do numerous times to others over the past few years, but none came. Dean remained silent in front of him.

Maybe it would be a little easier than he initially thought.

"I fell from Grace because my superiors believed that I was being too affectionate toward certain humans, and that I was a poor example of an angel," Castiel continued with a subdued tone. He knew Dean could react harshly at any moment, so softening his voice could help ease the delivery of information. "I didn't want to lie to you about who I was because I deemed it unfair on your behalf, seeing as you're -"

"Do you want me to take you to the doctor, Cas?" Dean interjected quietly, squeezing Castiel's knee a little. "Or do you wanna lie down for a bit, and I'll make you a drink?"

"No, Dean ... can I show you?" Castiel queried. He should have just used his blade in the first place. Dean had not understood what Castiel had told him, in spite of his toned down lexical choice to aid the delivery of information.

"Show me what, dude?"

Tentatively, he reached forward, stalling a little when he watched the worry taint Dean's features. But then he pressed two fingers to the centre of Dean's forehead, and all emotion vanished from the man's face.

He allowed an assortment of images to cross into Dean's mind, none of which involved the man himself. This was a far simpler method than trying to simply explain matters.

Castiel showed the human various idyllic scenes that he'd come across, Heavens he'd visited, and a brief view of his previous form. He'd been proud of his dark wings, glossy and black, feathers shimmering with blues and greys when the light hit them. He hoped Dean would like them more than his fellow angels had.

Castiel skipped to his last memory of Heaven, leaving out the painful details so not to upset his companion. He drew his hand away and the man's eyes shot open, searching for his with a certain desperation.

"What the  _fuck_  was that?!"

"That was what I wanted to tell you," Castiel stated. "I didn't want to lie to you."

Dean looked appalled, which was a marginally better appearance than Castiel had expected, although there was a tinge of anger washing over his soul.

"Did you drug me? This is a dream, right? Or - or I'm hallucinating!" Dean babbled. "Are you even real?"

"I am real. I have other ways of proving myself if that is something you want me to do," Castiel said calmly.

Dean continued to fret. "Sex? Is that what this is about?"

"Did you pay attention to anything I just showed you?" He huffed, feeling his face grow warmer.

“So what is this?” Dean blurted. “Some sort of  _religious recruitment_?”

“No, I – “

“Because I don’t believe in any of that shit: God, angels – none of it!”

Castiel scowled. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t speak of my father as such.”

Dean threw him something of a dirty look and his soul grew even darker in colour, making Castiel feel extremely uncomfortable. His intent hadn't been to anger the man, and although he understood it may be difficult for Dean to process, he'd hoped the man would have been a little more receptive than this.

“You're positive I'm not imagining you? I mean you are kinda surreal in the sense that you're so ... look, I don't know what the fuck is going on right now! Can you just explain your trippy psychic mojo crap?" Dean demanded, voice loud and brash. "You're starting to scare me, Cas!"

That had most definitely not been his intention. Obviously, from Dean's point of view, it must be a little startling, given that very few people actually believe in angels nowadays, but Castiel had merely assumed that the imagery would have convinced the man without any issues.

"I didn't mean to," Castiel murmured, brushing his fingers over the man's forehead apologetically. Dean froze, but continued to stare up at him with confusion, laced with fear. "It'll make sense.

He pushed forward yet more images: the Tree of Life, his brethren, how the world looked from his perspective in Heaven, and finally, the argument that had changed everything.

 

*

 

_"You can’t be serious?" Another angel scoffed, pacing the small garden in which they had met. "Do you realize just how ridiculous you sound, Castiel?"_

_The angel was jeering; mocking._

_"He needs my help, Uriel. That's what I’m here for," Cas muttered in response, eyes trained on every movement, locked on his companion. "You can't honestly sit back and watch them all suffer. We were told to keep them happy -"_

_"And we were also told not to grow attached to them, but apparently, you'd forgotten that part of your assignment," Uriel sneered, twisting round to impose on Castiel's personal space._

_Dean felt slightly possessive, hating that someone other than himself was standing so close to his new-found friend. Especially someone who took the piss out of the guy._

_Cas' wings ruffled furiously, indicating signs of distress and discomfort. "I'm not attached. He needs my assistance."_

_Laughter now, bellowing from the harsh angel, the one treating Cas with such disrespect. "Love is a form of attachment Castiel, and it makes me sick to the core, knowing that you would fall for a piece of dirt like -"_

_Castiel punched Uriel in the jaw suddenly, expression grim and unforgiving as the other angel crashed to the ground. Dean cheered silently, pleased to know that Cas could hold his own. Uriel deserved that much anyway, for being an insensitive dick._

_"He is_ ** _not_**   _dirt, Uriel,” Castiel spat harshly as he readied his wings for flight. “And I refuse to abandon him.”_

_“You don’t have a choice.”_

_Castiel turned on his companion with wide eyes and Dean could feel Castiel’s hatred for the angel burning away in the pit of his stomach, a nauseating feeling pushing to the surface. It was frightening to both see and feel the intensity of Cas’ anger, but part of Dean was excited by it. Castiel had come across so quiet and calm in person, yet here he was, striding toward one of his kin with a truly terrifying expression on his face._

_If looks could kill, that Uriel guy would most definitely be dead._

_“What are you talking about?” Castiel demanded, those black wings splaying out wide, intimidating._

_Uriel just laughed, rising to his feet without as much as a scratch on his face._

_That really pissed Dean off. He understood exactly how Cas was feeling, and if he’d of been there, he’d have ripped into the bastard without a second thought._

_“He’s no longer your responsibility – not since the charge was dropped yesterday,” Uriel smirked. "So unless you want to watch him suffer until he ends his pathetic life, I suggest you find a new hobby.”_

 

*

 

Dean blinked frantically as Castiel's touch disappeared; as the scenario disappeared. He looked up at the man – no,  _angel_  – to meet his piercing blue gaze.

Fuck, this was insane.

"So you're the real deal, then?" Dean pressed, struggling to find a more appropriate conclusion. "And I'm definitely not dreaming?"

"No," Cas assured him, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "No, it’s all reality. Like I said before, there are other ways I can prove myself – and not through the means of sexual intercourse like you so crudely implied."

There was no way Dean could keep a straight face when Cas said that, because he totally hadn’t imagined how  _that_  situation would pan out. "What, uhhh, what else can you do, then?"

He trusted Cas, a little more than he should for someone he'd just met, but of course, he was still slightly wary. There was that niggling feeling that this was all just a figment of his imagination for a lot of reasons.

Obviously, there was the actual angelic side of things, because come on; how many people could actually say that they’d met an angel – like a real, feathery, halo-wearing angel? Okay, so that was pretty much the most unfitting description of Castiel’s appearance  _ever,_ but then again, he’d just seen the vision where Cas had those midnight wings plastered to his back, and those looked pretty fucking real. Maybe they were a little different to what Dean had initially imagined, but they were wings none the less.

And then there was the fact that Cas was one of the most attractive people he’d ever seen. Whether that was all part-and-parcel with the whole angel side of things was another matter, but Dean had had a lot of dreams involving someone as visually stunning as this guy.

Most of the time they were girls, prancing about in their frilly lingerie, but he’d imagined the odd dude every now and again; although he had to say: he’d never imagined anyone as hot as Castiel.

"I don't want to alarm you in any way, Dean," his companion murmured softly, causing Dean to actually focus on his surroundings instead of staring off at a wall, drooling or whatever the hell it was he was doing beforehand. "So please try and remain calm when I show you."

And suddenly Cas was gone. Well, not  _gone_ -gone, but invisible. Dean pulled his hand back, because it looked pretty fucking weird just being held aloft in mid-air. But it was cool, and the whole idea of still being able to feel Cas’ presence in a way made the whole angel story that tiny bit more believable.

Dean had an inkling he’d be waking up with a raging fucking boner fairly soon.

"Shit, man. That's awesome," he mumbled, trying to spot any kind of outline to Castiel’s figure. It genuinely was impossible – like Cas had disappeared from the room completely, just he hadn’t because Dean could hear those light little breaths from the angel getting all worked up before, and when he reached forward he could still  _feel_  Cas there! He didn’t really wanna go full out touchy-feely on Castiel’s invisible form because he could end up touching all sorts of inappropriate places, and although he wouldn’t mind ‘accidentally’ brushing the angel’s junk, he’d seen what Cas had done to that Uriel guy and there was no way in hell he was risking his life like that.

"So, are you gonna turn back to normal any time soon or ..."

The atmosphere in front of him distorted and trembled before Castiel came back into view, grinning, which was really fucking adorable.

"You should be part of the X-Men or something," Dean laughed nervously, rising to his feet and collapsing on the mattress beside the angel. He lay back, smiling when Castiel loomed over him, his blue eyes bright and curious. "So you have a bunch of special abilities then?"

Cas nodded shyly. "I can move objects telekinetically, and I can read minds," he looked down at the weapon in his grasp. "And I might be able to heal myself."

"You could have healed yourself all along?” Dean smirked, observing the angel's delicate movements as he placed his other palm atop the blade. "Why wait until now?"

Castiel looked at him again. “I can only do it when I have my Grace to hand. In this instance, anyway."

Dean remembered an image that Castiel had shown him: light enveloped Castiel's form, compressing those glorious wings into his slight body.

"Why'd you get rid of your wings? They were fucking bad-ass!" Dean said, sitting up to conduct a proper conversation.

"Y-you really liked them?" Cas asked, joy exploding over his striking features. Dean could feel butterflies start up in chest, and heat pool in his stomach. Castiel looked even more incredible when he smiled, his eyes sparkling with utter fucking awe, like he’d never received a compliment in his life!

“What wasn't to like?” He grinned, flicking his gaze to Castiel's mouth as the angel licked his dry lips. "How come they're black though? I mean, they're cool and everything, but I expected them to be white, y'know?"

Cas’ smile faltered a little, and he glanced down at the weapon in his hands.

"Everyone else has white feathers," Castiel spoke, "Tinged with the colour of their Grace. They used to ... uhhh ..." Castiel trailed off, his brow furrowing during the brief silence that followed. "To put it simply, they weren't as accepting of the colour as you are, but I'd actually rather not address that right now."

The angel clenched the weapon tightly between his palms and the same blue light shone through his clothing, brighter where the wounds were situated, before fading into nothingness.

Dean watched Castiel for a few seconds, getting that sinking feeling that maybe he’d touched on a sensitive subject. Cas was still smiling, but it wasn’t the same as before; it looked almost strained – like he was smiling solely to keep Dean happy. Dean chose to continue as if nothing was wrong, because Cas had just said he didn’t want to talk about it, and Dean wasn’t gonna be a dick to someone who had just trusted him with some big fucking secret.

He lifted the hem of the angel’s sweater a little, eyes searching Castiel’s for the ‘go-ahead’, before he exposed the well-toned torso beneath. He timidly reached for the bandage, fumbling slightly as he attempted to undo the safety pin that was keeping it taut. The cloth unravelled, revealing the untainted, porcelain skin where there had been shallow incisions only the day prior.

“Awesome,” Dean whispered, trailing his fingers along the clear tissue. Castiel shivered, shying away from the touch.

“Sorry,” he laughed, letting Cas’ clothing fall back into place. “It’s pretty cool!”

Castiel merely smiled in response, tugging at the base of the thin pullover to conceal himself properly.

Was he  _blushing_?

Dean sidled closer, slinging an arm around his companion’s shoulders. "Well anyway, black wings are way sexier than white ones. They were probably jealous of you, dude."

Castiel only went darker in colour, eyes drifting up to meet Dean's momentarily, lips parting as if he was about to speak. Dean waited for Cas to say something, but the angel kept quiet, looking away.

So, from what Dean could gather, Cas had probably been bullied for being different or something. Dean didn’t want to bring it up because he hadn’t exactly told Cas about his own issues at college. It was ridiculous really, how he was being harassed at  _college_  of all places. He’d always been so popular at high school, but he definitely hadn’t expected to have been considered weaker than people like Gordon.

Obviously, Gordon was a little bit taller than him, and maybe he was also a little bit stronger, but it wasn’t as if Dean was some twinky little bookworm.

"Do you wanna go for a drive, Cas?" Dean asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. He figured it would beneficial to the both of them, seeing as Dean didn’t particularly want to think about class on his day off.

"Is that what you would like?" Castiel smiled, putting the weapon to the side. "I wouldn't mind as long as it was something you wanted too."

Okay. Cas was adorable.

"C'mon then," he said, springing to his feet and grabbing Castiel's hand to pull him up. The angel stumbled against him, clutching at the front of Dean's shirt to keep himself upright.

Dean laughed it off, seeing as it was his fault that Cas had crashed into him. "Sorry, buddy. Didn't mean to be so forceful."

Castiel grumbled something, but he spoke too low for Dean to understand him. Instead of harassing the guy into repeating what he'd just said, Dean led his companion downstairs to get some shoes from beneath the coat rack. He selected a pair he rarely ever wore himself for Cas; dark blue sneakers with white soles, pretty much brand new. He didn't know why he'd bought them to be honest, seeing as they weren’t the style he’d usually go for, but Cas could keep them if they fit okay.

He locked up the house whilst Cas sat on the top porch step to pull on the shoes, those dark sweats sagging over them when he stood. A breeze picked up momentarily, leaves scratching along the sidewalk as they were pushed along, creating a light and pleasant sound to corrupt the developing silence.

"You don't dislike me for what I was, do you Dean?"

Dean spun around to face him, tugging the key out of the door. "What? Cas, you've done nothing wrong! Why the hell would you think that?"

"Because I'm not human," Cas muttered. "Uriel said you would be disgusted by me. I just ... I just wanted to make sure."

This Uriel character was really starting to piss Dean off. "Cas, you're awesome. I just thought you were a little, uhhh ...  _confused_  to begin with. But no. I like you. We can be friends, right?"

"You want to be friends?"

"Of course, dummy. And I don't mind you staying here for as long as you want," Dean grinned, hopping down the steps onto the paving.

Together, they trudged over to the impala, leaves twirling about their shoes.

He opened the passenger side for Cas, swiping his hand through the air in the direction of the seat, a welcoming smile plastered to his face. Castiel sat inside cautiously, running his hands across the dark leather cushion. Dean closed the door firmly as he walked around to the driver’s side, stretching a little before finally climbing in. The interior was warm, contrasting with the icy wind that drifted over Dean’s bare forearms.

“So, anything that you want to see in particular, what with you being all new to earth and all?” Dean asked, starting up the engine. There wasn’t much in Kansas City – the odd decent store and maybe a couple of parks. He couldn’t really imagine Cas being interested in some bench-ridden playground.

“Not really,” Castiel paused, eyes scanning the dashboard. “Where do you like best?”

Dean smiled softly to himself. His thoughts wandered to images of the small forest-like area where he and Sam had gone venturing as children. It was on the outskirts of town; about a 20 minute drive away.

He changed gears as the car leered out of the driveway, motor purring softly with the adjusting speed. They drove in a pleasant silence, Dean casting the occasional glance across at the angel, warmth spreading through his body whenever their eyes met. Cas seemed to take great interest in their surroundings, twisting in his seat if they passed by something that grabbed his attention. It was oddly childlike, but Cas seemed fairly content with acting so.

The road became more rural as they approached the woodland, trees towering over the road, much like a tunnel around them. The tarmac was scattered with crisp leaves and debris, adding more colour to the windscreen view. To the left, the lake could be seen stretching out for some distance between the wooden arches, glistening in the little light that escaped through the looming clouds.

It was very grey, sky heavy and dark, barely any sunlight breaking through. Few birds darted through the sky, dipping their tiny bodies as they propelled themselves against the occasional bout of frozen wind.

Dean pulled over at the entrance, beckoning Cas to join him outside the vehicle. The air was damp and clingy, owing to the stormy temperament that was growing stronger with every minute. Dean didn’t mind. Rain made everything more interesting.

He traipsed into the dim-lit wood, observing the sprigs of foxglove that sprouted at the base of a nearby stump, morning dew sliding delicately down the crooked stem.

Castiel lagged behind marginally, feet dragging along the plant littered pathway. The guy hadn’t even questioned their whereabouts, merely admiring the spot that Dean had chosen to show him.

“It’s very alluring,” Castiel murmured, running his fingers through the ivy that hung limp from the branches above. “Do you come here often?”

Dean turned so that he could see the man fully; rosy cheeked and skin glistening in the moist air. “Used to. Me and Sam would climb the trees during the summer. It’s nice here though. Peaceful.”

Castiel hummed in agreement, eyes boring deeply into Dean’s own, mouth quirking into a brief smile as he walked over. Dean could feel the heat on his face as he chased away his hopeful illusions of how the future events wound pan out. Surely it was wrong to think about the angel in such an inappropriate way, especially now that he knew Cas could easily access his thoughts if he had that weird blade thing to hand.

A large, fat raindrop hit Dean’s shoulder, causing him to jump a little in surprise. It was cold and heavy, as were the ones that followed.

Castiel grimaced, his face a few inches from Dean’s, tiny rivulets of water running down his forehead.

The rain became more frequent and generous, saturating Dean’s thin shirt within a matter of seconds. Dean grinned, taking hold of Castiel’s hand in the same manner as he had done before, running deeper into the cluster of trees. Cas yelped, having no choice but to be pulled into the darkened wood, hand clamping down in return.

The water pelted against their skin with a sharp force as they ploughed through, smacking into their reddening faces with a harsh aggression. Dean could see the hollow oak a short distance away, vapour encircling it like a sacred shrine.

It had been their den as children: his and Sam’s secret spot. They used to hide there when their Dad had announced it was time to leave, curling up inside the bark to conceal themselves in the shadows until their father had stormed off back to the car. 

He slowed at the entrance, ensuring that Castiel had a fair amount of protection from the downpour. Cas was breathing heavily, apparently not used to such exertion, leaning back against the dry interior. His hair had melted against his flushed face, clinging to the equally watery skin. Dean let go of Castiel’s hand as the other man sank to the floor, joining him just a moment later. They fit together snugly, shoulders melding, owing to the cramped space. Dean’s clothes were heavy and waterlogged, his jeans proving to be very restricting and uncomfortable, making it a challenge for him to unfold his legs. He didn’t mind if they rested out in the rain, they couldn’t really become any more sodden.

Castiel’s head slumped onto Dean’s shoulder, hair slapping against Dean’s neck, his breath coming ragged and fast. The cold touch sent a shiver through his body, but he returned the gesture, letting his cheek rest on the tangle of dark brown strands. Castiel’s warmth seeped into him, preventing him from trembling with the cold.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hmmm?” Castiel replied, tucking his knees into his chest.

“Do you think you’ll stay around for a while? With me and Sam?”

There was a pause; Castiel repositioned his head on Dean’s shoulder in an attempt to get more comfortable. “I wasn’t sure that would be something you wanted. You don’t know me very well ...”

“Yeah, well, I’ll get to know you. Do you want to stay with us?” Dean asked, making his voice as soft as possible.

“...If staying wouldn’t make things difficult for you, then yes. I would like that very much.”

Dean could feel his heart beat faster at the prospect of Cas living with them, even if it wasn’t long-term. He closed his eyes, letting his body support itself against the other man.

“I am sorry though, Dean. About earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Cas apologised quietly.

“And I’m sorry I thought you were insane. And for kinda losing my temper and for swearing and freaking out – notice how everything that happened this morning was my fault?” Dean chuckled, closing his eyes. “You did nothing wrong, capisce?”

“Yeah, I capisce,” the angel replied, following up with a light yawn.

Dean sighed heavily, relaxing entirely as he listened to the rain pelting the ground outside.

 

*

 

He awoke to the sound of his Zeppelin ringtone, the phone vibrating violently against his leg. His jeans were still tight, but they were considerably less wet. It looked like it hadn’t rained in some time.

He dug it out of his pocket, fumbling a little as he went to unlock it before bringing it up to his ear. Castiel grumbled in his sleep beside him, nestling his cold face deeper in the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Hello?” Dean asked, voice rough and thick.

“Dean? Where are you?”

“Hey, Sammy," he began sluggishly. "Me and Cas went to the woods. Why?”

“Don’t you have work in an hour?”

Shit. Was it really that late? He glanced down at his wrist watch:  _8: 04_.

“Okay, Sam. I’ll be back shortly,” he replied swiftly. He hung up, lifting his head to look at Castiel’s slouched body that was pressed so close to his side.

“Cas,” he whispered, shaking the other man’s shoulder lightly. Castiel squirmed under the touch, groping at Dean’s damp shirt. His eyes fluttered open, dazed and dreamy, seemingly unable to focus on his surroundings with a breezy ‘oh’ passing his lips.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean grinned, stretching his arms out and upwards as Cas raised his heavy head. “We’re gonna have to head back now. It’s getting late.”

Castiel yawned loudly, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. He looked so young – so innocent.

Well, angels were innocent, weren't they? That's pretty much what they represented: innocence?

“C’mon,” Dean encouraged, rising to his feet and groaning as his back clicked.

Castiel looked up at him, eyes wide and expectant. All Dean could do was smile stupidly in response, offering Cas a hand. The other man accepted, and Dean hauled him up slowly.

They exchanged brief eye contact before Dean led the way back to the car, shivering as the wind pulled at their damp clothing. The forest floor was littered with shallow pools of rain water, leaves squelching and spitting with every footstep thrust upon them. There was little light filtering down through the tree tops because of both the foliage and the time of day. The sun hadn’t set entirely by the looks of things; sky tainted red and purple as dusk revealed the stars.

 

*

 

The drive back to town didn’t differ from the journey there, aside from the mild traffic that lingered along the main route. Castiel observed the passing vehicles with an unusual fascination, headlights reflecting in his curious eyes. By the time they arrived back at the house, the sky had darkened considerably, street lamps flickering on at their appointed time. Sam was waiting at the living room window, sitting on the inner sill doing some form of schoolwork.

“Okay. Cas,” Dean started, slamming the car door shut behind him. “I’m gonna have to go to work for a bit. You fine staying here with Sam?”

“How long will you be gone for?” Cas asked, a tinge of worry to his voice.

“Uh, like four hours. Unless Ellen lets me off ear – “

“Can I come with you?”

Dean paused, sensing the underlying desperation. He knew it would probably be more awkward for Cas to stay in the house when he didn’t know Sam very well. The kid was great, but Castiel was still a stranger in Sam’s eyes, and that could cause all kinds of problems if Dean made Sam babysit the angel for a few hours.

“If you want. I mean, it’s not gonna be fun for you, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Castiel bowed his head in response, corners of his mouth slinking upwards. Dean couldn’t help but smile in return.

He unlocked the door, stepping into the well lit hallway, Cas in close pursuit.

"Hey, Sam," he called, throwing the keys onto the bureau and scrubbing his jaw with his hand.

"Hi!" Came the reply, slightly muffled through the walls. "I left you guys some dinner – it’s in the fridge for later, kay'?"

"Thanks, dude!" He turned to Castiel, scanning the other man's attire. "You, uh, you need to change if you're coming with me."

Both of them had mud and debris clinging to their damp clothing, staining the fabric with a brownish hue. It had probably left some kind of mess in the impala too ...

Castiel just stared, waiting for Dean to elaborate.

"Come with me," Dean demanded, striding up the stairs toward his bedroom. Once inside, he opened the window, allowing the fresh air to envelop the mild humidity. Cas stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

Dean began rooting through his drawers for a clean pair of jeans and a shirt; pulling out various pieces of clothing and letting them fall to the floor untidily. "Hey, Cas, go pick out something clean to wear," he prompted, clutching at an old Black Sabbath shirt and pointing to the pile of garments in the corner. He began to peel his damp clothing off his torso, spraying himself with the new Axe fragrance before applying the slightly crumpled tee. He could feel Castiel's gaze trained on him as the angel crossed the room, and he huffed out a laugh, happy to have been the centre of Castiel's attention.

"Dude, hurry up and get changed."

"Sorry," Castiel mumbled, sifting through the pile of clothing on the floor carefully. He tugged off the sweatpants, exposing a pair of thin, pale legs. Aware of Dean's eyes on him, he sped up his actions, pulling on a tattered pair of jeans that sagged at his feet.

Yeah. Cas looked cute in baggy clothes.

Castiel sweater went next, and even though Dean had seen the guy's bare chest before, he couldn't help but stare.

"Dean ..." Castiel murmured, blushing as he became more uncomfortable.

Dean could only laugh, pulling off his mud-crusted jeans and replacing them with a new pair, darker in denim with a belt already looped round the waist. He was glad Castiel had averted his eyes, his dick twitching with interest at the sight of Castiel's semi-clothed form.

"You ready?" Dean asked timorously, pulling on his dad’s boots.

"Yes," Cas replied, cheeks still tainted with a scarlet colour. He’d put the navy sneakers Dean had leant him back on; the soles clean since Castiel had wiped his feet before walking through the door.

Dean grabbed his keys on the way out, shouting a quick 'bye Sam' as he and Castiel left the house.

"So, how's being human treating you so far?" Dean prompted, nudging Castiel with his elbow as they began the short walk down the street.

Cas looked up to find Dean's eyes. "Emotions are ... confusing. They're hard to control."

"Yeah?" Dean queried, eyebrows shooting up briefly.

"Yes. I'm sure I'll learn to understand them eventually, but for now they are more of a burden than anything else," Castiel sighed, pushing his hair back away from his forehead.

No. Emotions were  _always_ going to be a burden. Dean thought of the many times he had lost his temper, the many times he had lusted after someone he couldn't have; the pain it had caused was terrifying.

Emotions were manipulative.

They approached the stadium, shadows interlinking along the cobbled exterior.

"Dean?"

"Yup?"

"You're taking this all rather well. Would you still tell me if something was wrong?" Castiel's eyes were wide and luminous in the dusk, street lamps reflecting tiny flecks of gold in his irises.

"Dude, nothing is wrong! You can't help being who you are." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Finding out that you used to be an angel hasn't really changed my opinion. I mean, I know I treated you like an asshole, but I do like you Cas."

“You didn’t treat me like an ‘asshole’. You were reacting as any other human would,” the angel replied quietly, blushing considerably more and averting his eyes to the pavement to hide his face. “But I like you too.”

Dean looked at his companion for a short while, grinning when Cas refused to meet his eye.

"Look at you; struggling with your 'emotions'," he teased, shoving Castiel's shoulder gently. "I think you've got embarrassment covered."

He could see the faint smile on his companion’s features. It made him happy, knowing that he’d managed to amuse the angel.

 

*

 

Both Ellen and Jo took an immediate shining to Castiel, who sat at the bar all evening to keep Dean company. Castiel would wait patiently for Dean to return from a customer to talk to him. It made the job a lot more interesting.

Jo tried to coax the guy into having a few shots, but Cas refused, stating that he wouldn't have anything to drink unless Dean would too. Dean laughed, intrigued by the angel's method of decision.

The night went by quickly, The Roadhouse wasn't as bustling as previous Friday nights, but it was still fairly lively. Chuck sat in his usual corner, shying away from the college grads who laughed at the stories that tumbled out of his mouth. Chuck wasn't mental, he was just always wasted.

Dean placed the beer cautiously in front of Castiel, inching it forward with the tips of his fingers.

"Dean, I said I -"

"Don't worry, Cas," Dean interjected, raising his own glass. "My shift's over now." He rarely ever stayed for a drink, eager to avoid Jo’s constant snide remarks. She meant well, but _fuck_ : could she be annoying!

Today was different because, hey! He’d made a friend!

It was kind of sad to be celebrating such a lousy feat, but in terms of friends, Dean’s were slipping in numbers. He didn’t want to end up with no one to turn to once Sammy graduated or anything. He didn’t want to feel alone.

"You better be paying for those, Dean," Jo pouted, hitting him over the head with a hand towel as she sauntered past.

"Yeah, yeah," he groaned, walking round so he could sit next to Castiel. He stopped in front of the angel, scouting out a more suitable spot so they could talk in private.

"Dude, let's go sit over there," he pointed to one of the tables in the darker side of the bar, one that wasn't littered with empty beer bottles and the like. No one was seated in that area given the mess. It was perfect.

Castiel followed warily behind him, ensuring that none of the liquid spilled over the side of his glass. 

They sat opposite each other, Dean admiring Castiel from across the table. It was strange really, how close he felt to the guy considering the fact that they had only known each other for a day.

He watched Cas sip at the froth of his beer, the angel licking his lips slowly when it clung to the chapped skin. Dean knew that Castiel's actions weren't intended to seduce him, but Jesus fucking Christ ...

"Is something the matter, Dean?" Castiel asked, head tilted to the side with concern.

"No, no! Everything's fine! I, uhhh. I'm just tired, that's all." He chugged down half of his beer in an attempt to calm his nerves. He could see Castiel staring out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to make eye contact. He'd already made things awkward enough from his perspective; he didn't need to add a full blown boner to the equation.

"So, I take it you've never had a beer before," Dean began, swirling the remaining frothy liquid around in his glass.

"I thought you gave me one last night, or am I mistaken?"

Dean could feel a heat touch the tips of his ears. "I did, didn't I ..."

"What did you give him? A blowjob?" Jo teased, skipping past the table to clear up the surrounding mess.

"Fuck off, Jo!" Dean grimaced, feeling the heat spread to his neck. He didn’t need this sort of attention. Not now.

"Dean, what's a 'blowjob'?" Cas asked, innocence evident in both his facial expression and voice.

He stared at the angel for a while, shocked that the guy was truly that naive. "Uhhh ... yeah, I'm not answering that."

"Seriously, dude?” Jo smirked, flicking her blond hair over her shoulder as she collected the empty bottles on her tray. “I guess Dean could always  _show_  you."

Dean just scowled whilst he waited for the girl to leave. She took her time, swiping at their table a few times as she waited for the conversation to progress. Dean wasn’t going to humour her - especially when he'd trusted her to keep her mouth shut about the whole 'bisexuality' thing in the first place. Cas looked relatively puzzled, staring at Dean almost expectantly while Jo began to wipe down the tables surrounding them.

The angel opened his mouth to speak, but Dean raised his hand up to keep Castiel quiet, desperate to avoid further embarrassment. Cas looked bewildered for a second, but he soon regained his blank expression as he swallowed a mouthful of beer, letting his gaze wander elsewhere,

Before long, Jo moved some distance away – out of earshot, at least – and Dean looked over at the angel, watching him finish the alcoholic beverage. He realised he probably shouldn’t have given it to Castiel to drink, what with the reaction he’d had last night after having barely consumed any alcohol at all. Then again, it could have all been down to turning human if there was some sort of after effect or anything.

“I have something else I need to tell you, Dean,” Castiel said abruptly, placing his empty glass back on the surface of the table. “I ... I was going to tell you earlier, but you became somewhat upset and I didn’t want to anger you any more.”

“Well, I promise I’ll try not to flip my lid or anything. I’m fairly sure I can handle another weird-ass confession,” Dean smiled, scanning Castiel’s face. He stopped when he saw the sadness in the angel’s eyes, the overly shiny appearance of his blue irises. “How about we go somewhere else to talk about this?”

Castiel nodded slowly, so Dean rose from his seat, beckoning Cas to follow as he abandoned the table. He waved briefly at Chuck on the way out, holding the door open for Cas to leave before bracing himself against the cold air that bit at his exposed skin. He really should have brought his jacket.

They stepped outside into the icy night, travelling back via the route they took to get there. Castiel shivered with every step, teeth chattering uncontrollably as they wondered away from the building.

"You're cold," Dean mumbled, stating the obvious. It was his fault. He should have provided the guy with some sort of coat – or brought his own, and then he could have given it to the angel to wear.

"I've endured w-worse," Castiel shrugged, rubbing his arms to produce a kinetic heat.

Dean stepped closer, wrapping both arms around Castiel's trembling body. Cas was freezing, his skin considerably colder than the air around them.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas murmured, resting somewhat awkwardly against Dean’s chest.

Dean chuckled softly. "You're welcome, dude."

He rubbed the tops of Castiel's arms a few times before letting go of the angel entirely. "The sooner we get back, the sooner you can get warm."

Cas just nodded, footsteps keeping in time with Dean's as they kept going.

“So what is it you wanted to tell me?”

Castiel looked across at him, smiling softly. “The reason why I fell to earth to begin with.”

“To find that human, right?” He remembered the argument Cas had shown him earlier, something about Cas being in love with a human despite being incapable of expressing emotion, yada, yada, yada. It made him feel a little bit uncomfortable at the thought of it. He couldn't imagine Cas knowing anyone other than himself.

Castiel dropped his gaze to the road ahead, slight shoulders still trembling with the cold, but the smile grew slightly. “Yes.”

“So you gonna tell me about this ‘love-of-your-life’ then?” Dean asked as kindly as possible, desperate to conceal his jealousy. Maybe saying something like that was a little insensitive, and Dean kicked himself for not thinking anything of it sooner.

“I don’t love him,” Cas pouted. “But I care about him a lot.”

There was a brief pause as Castiel seemed to collect his thoughts

"In Heaven, angels are assigned different tasks depending on their Garrison. I ... my Garrison was in charge of watching over humans," Castiel began, beaming up at Dean with that adorable little smile of his, nose crinkling slightly. "And I was put in charge of you."

Dean felt his throat constrict and his cheeks burn. "M-me?! You watched over me?"

Cas nodded, and Dean found himself staring slack-jawed at the angel.

"Dude, I'm so sorry! What I said about you being in love and stuff - fuck, I must have made things so awkward for you!"

Castiel had a whimsical air about him, eyes scanning over Dean's features with that same smile playing on his lips. "Not awkward. Amusing."

That just made it fucking worse! Cas was pretty much laughing at him, just he wasn't  _actually_ laughing out loud because he was probably being polite. Fucking asshole.

Dean ducked his head to avoid the angel's watchful stare, as ... nice as it may be to see Cas' eyes trained on him, he didn't want to embarrass himself further.

“So ... what does that mean exactly? That we’re partners in crime?” Dean joked, increasing his pace, because holy fuck –  the temperature had definitely just dropped ten degrees. He crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing his biceps continually as they made their way down the street.

Castiel looked at him seriously before he went on to explain a shit-ton of things that Dean barely understood. From what he gathered, Cas said that he had been paired with Dean and they had this weird bond that kept them together. It was something that apparently all pairs had. Castiel had described it as some kind of 'sharing' connection so that Cas could read his mind and what-not. Apparently Cas was the only one allowed to do it. No one else was 'permitted to access' Dean's thoughts.

Like, he'd known Cas could read minds and all, but the angel made it seem like it was a big fucking deal for someone else to get involved - like if another angel went rummaging through Dean's head, that was a breach of code or something. Cas acted like some serious shit would go down if that was the case.

Dean felt kinda special, knowing that Cas didn't want anyone to interfere with the connection they shared. But then there was that blind panic for a moment when he understood what Cas had said completely. Castiel could read his mind – like every little thought and fucking porno fantasy he’d had since he’d first discovered how to jerk himself off.

“You ... can read my mind ...” He murmured, feeling that heat prickle the back off his neck in spite of the chill and he glanced away, rubbing at the skin with his palm.

“I rarely ever did. I like to think that I know you well enough that the thought transaction is not required,” Castiel replied, touching his arm lightly. “Does that bother you, Dean. I understand that it may be slightly discomforting for you to know.”

‘Slightly’ was a pretty big understatement. Cas probably knew how fucking perverted he was, and that was something he’d rather not have going around like that fucking panty story – not that Cas had anyone to actually tell, but yeah. It was pretty unnerving.

Well, he figured that if the guy had been rooting around any time over the past six or seven years, he would’ve known what a friggin’ blowjob was, so that eased his nerves a little. Maybe Cas hadn’t done it since Dean was a kid or something?

“Nah. I’m cool with it.”

Castiel smiled again, going on to explain the reason  _why_ people like Dean were assigned guardian angels in the first place. Apparently, humans who were thought to have some sort of troublesome future were blessed with one of these pretty faced do-gooders.

Having lived his life, Dean knew exactly why he'd had Cas looking out for him.

The one thing he didn't understand though was the point of it all. Like, was Cas just there to stop him from ending his life or for comfort when he needed it or something? To be frank, if it was the latter, Cas had done a pretty shit job - no matter how awkward the guy was, Dean would be pretty pissed if Cas was meant to help him through it all along.

“So what did you have to do, then?”

Castiel went quiet and his smile faltered, lips trembling as he faced away and Dean felt the sinking feeling in his chest. “My task was to keep you happy.”

“Well, brilliant job you did there, Castiel!” Dean jeered darkly, batting the angel’s hand away. “I’ve never felt better!”

“May I please finish before you jump to any conclusions,” Castiel snapped, and for a split second, Dean swore he could see tears in the angel’s eyes – like actual tears threatening to spill now. He clamped his mouth shut, glancing away as he tried not to lose his temper, hoping that he hadn’t done anything wrong to lose the right to be happy or anything – not that that would be a fair choice for someone else to make, though. That was almost like playing God ... unless; it was  _actually_ God giving the order in the first place.

That still wasn’t really fair though. Sure, he’d had his ups and downs – a shit-ton of downs, in reality – but he was still here, still holding on to make sure Sam got through life safely, happily.

“I am willing to admit that your depression and dislike for life itself is because of my incapability to do anything well, so it seems, but ...” the angel’s voice cracked, and Dean looked over to see the tears – clear as day – rolling down those porcelain cheeks, and if that didn’t make him want to ignore all the upsetting stuff the guy was saying and just wrap him up in a blanket or some shit like that, then he didn’t know what would. “I had been forbidden from helping, and I had to watch you ... you ...”

Dean felt his chest clench at the sight of Cas crying – full on crying, like, red-faced and everything – but the guy was so quiet, barely making any noise other than light gasping breaths as he tried to continue his explanation.

"I – I liked you, and they all told me it was wrong – but I hadn't had anyone in my charge for over two hundred years, and to finally be paired with ... with someone as genuinely kind and considerate as you were … I wanted to do everything I could to make you happy!" The angel whimpered, raising a hand to swipe at his tear stricken cheeks. Dean almost burst into laughter at how confused Castiel looked at that moment, glancing down at the back of his hand like it had sprouted a human head or something; but he didn’t, because that was his totally douchey and insensitive side speaking again, and he didn’t want Castiel any more upset than he already was.

"Cas ..." Dean started, and Castiel stared across at him with wide eyes, all watery and scared, and fuck – it was breaking Dean’s heart to see him like that. "Stop crying, okay? It’s fine.  _I'm_  fine, just ..."

He stepped closer, throwing both arms around the angel’s shoulders for reassurance. He wasn't really good at the whole comforting thing, but he was willing to try, even if Cas hadn't been there to comfort him when Dean had needed it most.

Castiel shivered against him. "It’s my fau -"

"Shut up," Dean mumbled, pressing a hand to the back of Cas' head and stoking his hair softly. "If I told you I forgive you, would you stop getting so worked up?"

Cas  _could_  be lying, but the fact that he was so naive and innocent kinda opposed the whole crying for attention thing. He didn't seem like the sort of person who would lie anyway - he'd been pretty fucking honest up until this point. Did he really have any reason to lie?

"You gonna tell me more about it?"

Castiel relaxed a little, slumping in Dean's arms. "Raphael said ... he said that such an attachment was abnormal and that you wouldn't need my help anymore – but he knew the worst hadn't happened just yet, and I'm so sorry you had to suffer because of me, Dean! I'm  _sorry!"_

"I forgive you 'kay? Just stop crying. You're making my shirt all wet."

"I can't help it!” The angel griped, pushing at Dean's torso with his palms. “I don't know what's wrong with me!”

Dean let himself smile, tightening his grip around Castiel's body. It was ... it was adorable.

"There’s nothing wrong with you," Dean said sincerely, pressing his lips to the top of Castiel's head, not really caring as to whether Cas understood the gesture or not. It was just a form of apology in this situation, what with Dean insulting him multiple times over the course of the day, so if Cas questioned it, he had his answer at the ready.

He released Cas from the hug, bending down to push their foreheads together. "We're gonna go home, and we're gonna talk about it, okay? You're gonna eat some food, and I'll make you a drink to calm you down, and we can just talk until you're happy again. Sound good?"

Castiel stared into his eyes, the blue bright despite the night surrounding them, and he smiled slightly, corners of his mouth quirking up. Dean took that as a 'yes'.

He kept his arm wrapped tightly around Castiel's shoulders for the rest of the journey, rubbing the top of the angel's right arm every so often when he felt Cas tremble with the cold.

 

*

 

Sam was already in bed by the time they returned, having left the living room light on to cast a warm glow over the grass. Dean tugged off his boots once they were in the hallway, placing them against the wall and out of harms way. Castiel did the same, lining his sneakers up along the skirting board.

"Why don't you go sit on the couch or something and I’ll be through in a minute," Dean patted Castiel on the back as he continued through to the kitchen.

He assumed the angel had listened because when he looked over his shoulder, Cas wasn’t behind him.

Dean turned the oven on before drying two bowls that were resting on the draining board and retrieving the leftover macaroni cheese from the fridge. He peeled off the cellophane, placing the Pyrex dish in the oven to reheat it and stepping back to grab the kettle.

It was way too late to be drinking coffee – not if Cas wanted a decent night sleep – so he dug out the cocoa from the back of the cupboard, figuring that he couldn’t go wrong with hot chocolate.

Sam never drank the stuff, even though Dean had bought it at his request. The kid was weird; constantly changing his tastes just because his friends thought it was ‘uncool’. Dean couldn’t give two shits if someone thought him going running, for example, was uncool. There was no fucking way he would give up something like that purely because someone else held a different opinion about it.

He was being hypocritical, in a sense. The amount of shit he had completely neglected because his friends at the time had said it was ‘pointless’ or ‘gay’ - or whatever other stupid insult that shouldn’t have meant anything to him but totally did - was ridiculous.

Dean hadn't really bothered keeping in touch with his old classmates - he'd seen them around often enough, but he barely ever talked to them.

Most of them were utter assholes anyway.

He filled the kettle mid capacity before placing it back on its holder and switching it on, wincing slightly as his finger caught beneath the lever. They really needed to get it fixed – or just buy a new model altogether. It was the third time Dean had cut himself on the sharp jut of plastic this week.

Dean proceeded to spoon four teaspoons of the cocoa powder into a large mug, pushing the little container toward the windowsill for later because he was too fucking tired to reach up to the shelf again.

Coffee was starting to seem like a good idea.

So was wandering around the kitchen aimlessly until the kettle had boiled.

He stopped in front of the fridge, scanning over a bunch of Sam’s report cards that Dean had pinned up, and smiling when he saw the most recent. He really was proud of his little brother. Sammy was definitely one of the most intelligent people he’d ever known, and the kid was  _fourteen._

Dean only wished he had tried harder at school after seeing all the achievements Sam was receiving. He wished someone could be proud of him, even if it was for the stupidest thing in the world – like a pie eating contest, even though that totally wasn’t stupid, and Dean would definitely win. No questions asked.

The kettle made that disturbing choke-like noise to indicate the water was sufficiently heated, and Dean strolled back over to finish making Cas the drink.

He had treated Cas like an asshole. Again. The poor guy didn’t deserve it, and Dean had been the reason for Cas getting so fucking upset that he had cried. Castiel: who had been smiles all day and had been so sweet and honest and fun to be around.

Why did Dean have to go and ruin everything?

He stirred the beverage until all the powder had dissolved, smelling really fucking delicious, but again, Dean was too tired to bother making another one. And anyway, Cas was way more important right now.

The macaroni cheese had been aptly heated during this time, probably a little more so than necessary. As Dean opened the oven again, he was hit with a brash wave of heat, slapping his cheeks and making his eyes water. There wasn’t as much left as he would have liked, what with Sam still being young and spouting all that I-need-more-food-to-help-me-grow crap. Sammy was tall enough as it was. Dean didn’t want to suddenly become the shrimp in their family height-chart.

He spooned the meal into the bowls, grabbing two forks from the draining board to eat with. Very professionally, he balanced one bowl in the crook of his arm so that he could carry the other, as well as the hot drink, in his hands. He was being careful, and he liked to think himself perfectly capable of doing something so simple anyway, so he figured it saved him having to walk back through to the kitchen again. Once he was back in the living room, he placed the cocoa on the coffee table, along with his own portion of macaroni cheese so that he could hand the bigger serving to Castiel. “Here you go,” he said quietly, sitting as close as he could to the angel without it being considered 'too close' for just friends. Castiel smiled from his cross-legged position, moving on the cushion so that his entire body was facing Dean's.

“You calmed down a little now?” Dean asked, thumbing the tear stains on the angel’s cheeks delicately. Cas closed his eyes and Dean could feel the wetness of his lashes.

Castiel nodded, so Dean drew back, reaching for his own bowl of food and setting it on his lap. “I didn’t realise emotions would be hitting you so hard, buddy,” Dean murmured. He’d expected maybe a little confusion with the whole understanding as such, but not a fucking breakdown.

“Neither did I,” Cas replied softly, stirring the macaroni cheese around his own bowl with a fork. “I didn’t think they’d affect me in the first place, seeing as I’m not entirely human.”

“What do you mean ‘not entirely’?

Castiel’s eyes flickered upwards briefly. “Well, as you saw this morning, I can still master the power of my Grace ... and then I still have my wings, and humans most assuredly do not.”

“You still have your wings?” Dean asked excitedly. “Can I see them?”

Castiel grinned somewhat shyly, meeting his gaze. “When I’ve become more accustomed to this form and I’ve gathered enough strength to perform the change, I’ll show you.”

"Sweet!" Dean laughed. To think that Cas actually trusted him enough to see them. He couldn't wait!

Castiel looked away; down at the bowl in front of him as he continued to stir the contents. "It's nice to know you want to see them. I was worried that you'd be put off by their colour like everyone else was." The angel lifted some of the food to his mouth, letting it hover in front of his lips. "Thank you for being so kind to me.”

Dean smiled softly in return, even though Cas wasn't looking at him any more. He didn't know much about it, but he could only assume the angel had been treated differently because his wings were ... unusually coloured - not that the colour should even be considered a bad thing. They'd been exciting to look at, with that weird blue glow casting bizarre patterns over the feathers.

Dean turned to his own bowl of food, scooping some up onto his fork. He blew on it before shovelling it in, realising that the food wasn't even that hot to begin with. He didn't bother cooling any of the forkfuls that followed.

The macaroni was kinda chewy, owing to the fact that it had spent almost a whole day sitting in the fridge. It still tasted good, but not as nice as the day prior.

"Well, like I said earlier: black is sexy," Dean said, swallowing another mouthful of his meal. "Embrace your sexiness, Castiel!"

He watched Cas' eyes flit up to meet his own, the slight smile on his lips and both eyebrows raised. The sight made Dean's stomach flip, a heat creep up his neck.

"Right, so ... from the beginning I guess,” Dean mumbled, changing the subject. “I wanna know what this whole deal is with Raphael."

Castiel cocked his head to the left slightly, those long fingers of his twirling the fork around the bowl with a very light scraping noise. It wasn't irritating as such, but it was slightly off putting. "You wish me to explain everything again?"

Dean nodded sheepishly. "If you don't mind.”

There was a pause and the scraping noise stopped. For a moment, Dean found the silence a little uncomfortable, but Castiel piped up again, seemingly more than happy to explain it all once more.

"The few humans who are assigned guardians, much like yourself, are under special protection to prevent any harm from coming to them. An angel named Michael pairs up an angel with a human, and a type of bond is issued to link us together. This bond varies between each pair depending on the characteristics that differ between us." Castiel's voice had softened a little, almost like the topic they were discussing was kind of delicate. Dean imagined it probably was if Cas had gone through so much shit in the first place.

"The bond initiated between you and I, despite your infancy, was rather peculiar, and Michael said that I needed to watch over you very carefully. You ..." Castiel let out a breathy laugh - the first Dean'd ever heard pass the angel's lips, "You always had to make things so difficult for me. Steering you away from danger seemed to be more like a form of persuasion, and you have always been rather stubborn. You made risking your own life seem like some sort of pastime."

Dean looked up again to find Castiel's eyes trained on him, expression soft and kind.

"I didn't want to stop you from being so adventurous because you were always content once you'd achieved your goal, so I made certain you could never injure yourself instead by making everything safer…"

It was weird how much Cas was like a parent; watching out for him at all times and making sure everything was pretty much child proofed - in a way, he was better at protecting Dean than John had. Sometimes Dean wondered if his dad had even tried.

He'd loved climbing when he was younger - it was like that hobby that probably wasn't advisable, but he still did it whenever his parents weren't around to see. It was the main reason he had ventured to the forest so often.

And he had to admit, there were times when he thought he was going to fall, thin branches snapping beneath his weight as he clambered to the top of those big-ass trees and he'd lost his footing completely. He’d always thought it was sheer luck that he would find another branch nearby, sturdy and thick, and never out of reach, to catch himself just in time.

Apparently  _this_ gorgeous little fucker had been saving his life on what seemed to be a daily basis.

"So when I was informed that you were to be removed from my charge, I didn't know what to do. I knew that as a teenager, you were not going to stop being so daring and not being able to ... to stop you getting hurt made me ... I guess you could say I became upset. I asked Gabriel over and over to let me care for you until the end of your days, but he couldn't do anything. Raphael had made the decision, and Gabriel had no control over the matter," Cas sighed heavily, lips still displaying the traces of that fond smile.

"Raphael and I have never seen ... eye to eye, as you say, and he knew what your future held. I knew what would happen if I couldn't keep you protected, and so did he, but ...” There was a brief pause as Castiel licked his lips nervously. “I am aware that you aren't partial to discussing this period of your life, so I won't dwell on it – but it hurt to see you become so isolated, Dean. You weren't – and still aren’t, for that matter – happy, and you were becoming more and more depressed, yet  _still_  they told me I was forbidden from interfering, even though our bond remained intact."

"Cas, how exactly is that your fault?" Dean asked softly, confused as to what Cas was telling him. So the guy had protected him, and then this Raphael character had decided Dean didn't need Cas anymore?

Right?

Castiel's eyes narrowed for a second, like he was struggling to understand the question, before he looked back down at his own bowl on the table, expression dazed and hard to comprehend. "It was a punishment. I wasn't meant to become attached to you – we’re not meant to become attached to any humans in our charge because it's seen as a distraction of some sort. Anyway, Uriel told Raphael that I was smitten, and that I was in love with you. I'm not, and I never was, but I liked seeing you smile. That was all I wanted, Dean. I just wanted you to smile."

"Aww shit, Cas," Dean sighed, taking Castiel's bowl from his hands to place both pieces of crockery on the coffee table. "That's fucked up … not you liking my smile, cos' that's actually kinda sweet, if you don't mind me saying."  He shuffled closer, bringing his own legs up onto the settee to mirror Castiel's position. The angel was looking at him with a mild curiosity, smiling as Dean leant closer.

The great thing about Castiel, aside from being a genuinely nice and utterly stunning guy, was how he'd managed to make Dean feel relaxed with his watery stare. His eyes had that sort of softness to them that few people had these days, despite the tears that gave them such a shiny appearance. They were the kind of eyes that didn't judge or mock; they were caring and bright, lively yet so calming.

"I like your smile too, dude," he hummed, closing his eyes and resting their foreheads together again. "So, if you smile more, I'll smile more, 'kay?"

"Okay."

"Good." Dean drew back slowly, letting his eyelids flutter open, only to see Castiel's closed. The angel looked so peaceful, a delicate blush on his cheeks and his parted lips still holding a slight smile. Dean wanted to kiss him, although that'd kinda be inappropriate, wouldn't it? Cas was his guardian angel, not some potential boyfriend.

Castiel had given up everything -  _everything_  - to meet Dean, so if anything, Dean should probably respect the guy, and treat him as best he could; because that was one of the most selfless things anyone had ever done for him. And Dean was happy that Cas had fallen, because Castiel wanted to spend time with him. He'd found a friend that actually wanted to devote  _all their time_  to be with him.

Okay, so to think about it like that was actually kind of selfish, but Dean had never really been good at the whole meeting up and socializing aspect of friendship, and now he had someone who he could see everyday without fault.

Well, unless Cas chose to go home or whatever, but Dean didn’t want to think about that right now.

Castiel was an amazing individual; to go against everything he'd known just to make a friend because everyone else he knew mocked him for having a pair of the most beautiful wings Dean had ever seen, and because they thought that wanting to meet a human was a ridiculous idea or whatever. What the hell?

The ridiculous part was  _forbidding_  Cas from even helping Dean, purely because the angel had felt sorry for him. And what was so wrong about wanting to see someone smile? Smiling was pleasant enough.

He stretched his arms above his head, watching Cas open his eyes lazily. Castiel looked tired, and to be perfectly honest, Dean felt so too. And he had work in the morning, so he shouldn't really stay up much longer if he could help it, as much as he loved Castiel's company and all.

Maybe Cas would want to come to the garage with him; it would only be for a few hours, and it would be better than Cas staying here to talk to Sam about bands and shit when he had no clue about what was going on.

Yeah, Cas could come to the repair shop. It wouldn't be as busy as The Roadhouse, and they could talk while Dean worked. It meant that Cas wouldn't be made to feel terribly uncomfortable.

Dean slung his legs over the side of the settee to stand up. "I think we should be getting to bed now. You look exhausted, dude."

Castiel cocked his head to the side again, "I'll stay here, Dean. You don't need to worry about my comfort."

"Nuh-uh. While you live in my house, you live by my rules. Number one," he sighed, rising to his feet. "No sleeping on the settee. And number two: no complaining."

"Should I sleep on the floor then?" Cas queried, voice soft and perplexed.

"No, you ..." Dean started, dragging a palm over his face. "You're gonna sleep in my bed, and I'm gonna sleep on the couch."

Did Cas honestly think that Dean would make him sleep on the fucking floor, of all places? Seriously?

"But ..." Cas stopped talking, glancing down at his hands. "No complaining," he mumbled, pouting, and if that wasn't the cutest thing Dean had ever seen ...

Castiel stood up next to him, latching onto Dean's wrist to steady himself. Poor guy still hadn't got used to gravity or whatever it was causing him to become so unbalanced. Dean didn't mind having Cas use him as a crutch or anything. Not when he was so new to it all.

He felt like an escort, walking Castiel up to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway beside the angel to run the norms by him. He explained that Cas should sleep in his underwear and a shirt, because Dean didn't really do pyjamas so he had none to give; and that if Cas needed anything at all, Dean would only be downstairs. Castiel nodded with every instruction, never once breaking eye contact. The whole staring thing was admittedly a little unnerving, but it was just Castiel's naivety. Again.

Besides, it wasn't like Dean minded having Cas' absolute attention, because he could see the interest in Castiel's eyes and the willingness to remember every spoken word. Dean had never met anyone who was so devoted to him without having some sort of romantic implication.

Was it because of the bond they shared, or because Cas just found humans interesting in general? Either way, Dean didn't care.

He pulled Cas into a hug before leaving, nestling his face in the tangle of dark hairs atop Castiel's head. Cas went stiff, hands hanging at his sides. "Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean laughed softly. "I'm hugging you, Cas. It’s what you do to people you like."

Cas made some sort of humming noise before he reciprocated, clutching at the back of Dean's shirt.  It was surprising how tightly Cas was holding him, his fingers pushed against Dean's skin through the thin fabric, and his face pressed against Dean's neck, exhaling heavily. The way Castiel stood made the positioning a little awkward, but it was nice feeling Castiel's arms wrapped around his torso.

Dean smiled, thinking about how adorable Cas was. The guy had clearly been deprived of any form of physical affection. He was quite happy to give Castiel as much attention as he wanted if this was how it would pan out each time.

He loosened his grip, letting his fingers trail over the jut of Castiel's elbows before dropping his hands back to his sides.

"Night, buddy," he whispered, stepping back into the hall.

"Good night, Dean," Cas smiled, eyes flitting to Dean's lips then down to the floor.

Dean nodded, patting the other man on the shoulder before continuing down the hallway. He could hear Castiel slink into the bedroom, the light rustle of denim as he removed his jeans. Dean continued down the steps to get to the living room, resisting the urge to turn back.

He flicked off the lamp, grabbing at the blankets that had fallen to the floor previously that morning and lay down on the settee cushions, pulling them over his fully clothed body. He couldn’t really be bothered to get undressed right now, he was way too tired.

Dean shut his eyes, recalling the earlier events in the forest. He smiled softly, remembering how Cas had leant against his side, warm and fragile like any other human being.

Castiel, angel of the Lord.

Fucking awesome.

 


	3. Entrance Is Crucial and it’s Not Without Pain

 

You dream of colours that have never been made,  
You imagine songs that have never been played.  
They will try to buy you and your mind.  
Only the curious have something to find.  
It's foreign on this side,  
And the truth is a bitter friend.  
But reasons few have I to go back again.

_Nickel Creek_

Castiel found himself being jostled awake, and unwilling to open his eyes, he buried his face in the pillow that smelt like Dean. Dean's pillow.

"Aww, c'mon Cas. You gotta get up soon. I'm going to work in an hour."

Castiel groaned loudly, shying away from the hand that raked through his hair. How Dean could bear to wake up at such a time was impressive, but it was not something he was overly fond of himself. His eyes ached again, and although Dean's presence was a comfort, it wasn't helping the pain. Castiel just wanted to sleep.

But then there was talking to Dean, and that was also something he wanted to do.

Decision making wasn't his area of expertise, but perhaps spending more time with Dean was the wiser option? The man was his responsibility after all. Castiel couldn't just ignore him.

"Good morning, Dean," he mumbled, rolling toward the touch and rubbing at his eyes with the back of his wrist. Dean's hand rested against Castiel's cheek and Castiel couldn't help but smile, liking how soft Dean's skin felt against his own. Dean was being very affectionate, and it was nice to know the man liked him – and that for once someone wasn't afraid that they would be damaged by touching him.

He opened his eyes slowly, tiny dots altering his vision, but other than that, everything was clear. Dean's face was very clear. And very close.

Dean's eyes were bright in the daylight, and seeing them made Castiel smile wider.

"And here I was thinking you'd never wake up," Dean chuckled.

Castiel rose up, leaning on his palms and Dean's hand fell from his cheek, resting on the mattress beside his thigh. His back clicked and it felt strange; his muscles were slightly weak upon their first movement, but they were definitely more cooperative than the day prior. He was beginning to adjust to this significantly less powerful form, but he still wished he could expose his wings. Sooner or later they'd most likely break free of their own accord.

He'd need to stretch them once a month, or keep to a schedule similar to make sure they didn't startle anyone unexpectedly in public. That would be most problematic. Dean said that he liked the look of Castiel's wings anyway, so if he were to show anyone at all, it would be Dean. That would have been his person of choice regardless, and if Dean had deemed them repulsive like the majority of others, he would have unsheathed them in the comfort of his own company.

That would have been just as acceptable. However, he was more than willing to show the man should he ask … and, of course, once this body had regained enough strength to perform the change itself.

And to do that, he'd need to sleep for longer than what Dean allowed himself.

Five hours of sleep was not ideal, but Dean was incredibly stubborn. It would be a challenge to alter Dean's sleep pattern what with his appalling work hours. Castiel would give anything to take Dean's place, even if it only gave the man a few more hours to sleep. Sometimes he wondered if it would make Dean ill.

Sleep deprivation was most certainly not healthy, and if Castiel was feeling exhausted after just one day of matching Dean's sleep pattern, he dreaded to think what kind of affect it had on Dean every single day. Dean's soul could not display weariness, but it could be one of the reasons why his soul was so very blue.

Castiel could think of multiple reasons that contributed to Dean’s depression, but he couldn’t help with several of them. Not without his brethren hunting him down for further punishment anyway.

Could sleep deprivation lead to depression?

"So, the shower's free if you wanted to use it. Do you want me to show you how it works?" The man asked, rising up from his seated position on the floor. Castiel could see the water droplets in his companion's hair and the flushed taint to Dean's skin.

Castiel nodded shyly, although he was eager to try it. He had ... seen Dean showering before - never intentionally - but he still didn't know how to work the unit itself.

He followed Dean down the corridor, smiling whenever the man glanced down at him. Dean never really smiled back, going a little red at the tips of his ears, but his eyes were animated, and Dean's soul had that tiny flare of yellow in the centre that made Castiel feel incredibly warm inside. Already he was having a positive impact on Dean's happiness.

He blushed at the recollection of how he had acted emotionally earlier that morning. He hadn't meant to become so upset - he had never felt anything so powerful alter the intentions of his actions, and he hadn't meant to talk to Dean so harshly. It was embarrassing knowing just how out of character it was for him to react like that.

 _Embarrassment_.

That was another sensation he had not been informed of, although he could easily identify it ever since Dean had told him of its name. It seemed to be uncontrollable, and even in instances where he had never even thought himself embarrassed, his body would act on his own accord and he would feel the heat creep along his face, the slight uncomfortable sensation that settled in his stomach.

He hated it.

But to think that he had _cried_ to Dean. It had been a horrible experience, and the way Dean had looked at him during such an outburst was even worse. It was almost like, to combat such a drastic change to his state was impossible, because for those few minutes where he had wept uncontrollably, everything had been too overwhelming. It had been frightening and everything was so difficult to comprehend, and he knew for certain that he never wanted to feel that way again!

He watched the way the man turned the taps on the thin metal cylinder, holding his hand beneath the spray to test the temperature. Dean flicked a few droplets at Castiel's face and Castiel couldn't help but flinch, frowning. The man laughed before explaining how everything worked: how the left side controlled the flow of cold water, and how the right side controlled the hot. This was to adjust the overall heat of the temperature until it was satisfactory.

Then there was the soap, and the shampoo, and they were used for cleaning oneself. The bar was to cleanse the body, and the weird, thick liquid was used to clean the oil from his hair. He didn't know why humans did that, because it was the oil that made their hair healthier, but apparently they knew best; and now that Castiel had fallen, he would do the same.

Dean left two dry towels on the closed toilet seat before leaving Castiel to get on with it, shutting the bathroom door behind him. The room wasn't cold, but it wasn't very warm either, owing to the open window that allowed the room to ventilate. Within the bathroom, there was a relatively large bath tub that resided by the door, opposite which was the glass panelled shower cubical, steam shrouding the interior from sight. Obviously, there was the toilet, as every human household was expected to have one of those, accompanied by a sink, and a mirror, to the left.  It was a pleasant enough room; plenty of space to transition between each unit, and the tiles were a pretty light blue in colour.

Castiel had never really admired their bathroom before, merely checking up on Dean's whereabouts to make sure he was alright.

Carefully, he slid off his crumpled shirt, folding it in his arms to lay it down on the ledge of the bath, proceeding to step out of his boxers. Clothing had never been an issue in Heaven. An angel would decide upon an outfit and that would be that. They would be clothed in the garments of their choice, relying upon their Grace to cleanse both themselves and their attire.

Angels never really had a need to wash themselves as the bare minimum actually did any form of laborious work, and even in such instances, they would never sweat from the exertion. They had no need for food, or for water, and their internal organs had been altered in such a way that a stomach, for example, was practically non-existant. Castiel didn't need to eat or drink before he fell, but now that his anatomy had been altered to be almost identical to that of the average human, it was something he now required.

His body looked human enough, but he knew it would take some time before he would adapt fully in terms of emotional understandings. He'd been told that removing his wings wouldn't be wise, but they could remain compressed for as long as needs be, and he could quite easily go for long periods without any form of nourishment. That aspect wasn't particularly important, and he intended to eat regularly, as it was a key accompaniment to certain social interaction.

Tentatively, he stepped into the shower and he sighed under the hot beat of water. He immediately felt his muscles relax as the liquid rolled down his skin, steam dancing around his ankles from the base of the cubicle. It felt like rain, just warm and soothing - and not the slightest bit unpleasant.

Castiel reached for the soap, lathering up his palms with the slippery bar as he'd seen Dean do many times. His skin became softer and smooth beneath his touch as he ran his hands over his chest. It smelt nice, the delicate perfume clinging to his body as it left behind trails of bubbles. It smelt like Dean.

Or, rather, Dean smelt like the soap.

Castiel ran his hands over his ribs, feeling just how close the bones were to the surface of his skin. He’d never really looked at his bare form, nor had he felt it, concealing it beneath his clothing without so much as a thought as to how it would develop as he aged.

Castiel wasn’t overly old for an angel; four-hundred and thirteen was hardly mature considering the majority of angels lived to be _at least_ one-thousand.

An angelic death, if met at the correct time, was a beautiful event to witness. It wouldn’t be considered as such here on earth, and he supposed that if he were to admit such a thing to Dean, the human would be horrified, so used to death being considered morbid and often a disturbing topic to converse about.

Such an opinion was understandable, what with the history with his mother, but if he should ever witness the death of a truly beautiful angel when their time had come to pass, perhaps it would alter his view marginally.

Owing to the fact that angels were initially an embodiment of pure light, when they reached their end, the light broke free from their evolved forms. Their Grace would collect in an orb, much like the souls of humans, and bloom on the Tree of Life, marking their glorious past that fledglings would grow to appreciate. Such a spectacle was one of the few things Castiel would miss, along with visits to the Garden to view the ever expanding tree.

He considered showing the man later on through the telekinetic thought process. Castiel still remembered Joshua’s death and how bright the sky had been at his departure. Utterly amazing.

Castiel had always wondered what his Grace would look like on the tree after he passed on. He knew, from the sight of his feathers, that it would be blue in colour, but whether or not its intensity would be as grand as Joshua’s would be another matter.

Dwelling on such a thought would not provide him with that future knowledge. He would reach the end of his life sooner than any other angel through natural causes, and after death, he wouldn’t be able to see it regardless.

Of course, he could always ask those situated in Heaven, should he leave the tree for a visit of some sort. Perhaps, if Dean wished it, Castiel could visit him as a body of light, even for a little while. Until then, he could reside in the tree to learn more of his ancestral beings.

That sounded pleasant enough.

His hands slid over his abdomen, his hips, just above his groin before he descended further down, applying the soap to his length. It was firm in his grip, and when he applied more pressure to the movement, it felt rather quaint. It wasn’t a bad sensation, but it was most assuredly alien.

He’d seen Dean perform such a gesture whilst washing himself before, so Castiel merely assumed it was all part of the process. He began to think of the instances where Dean had cleansed himself in such a manner, recalling how the man had used short and quick pulls.

Castiel moved slowly at first, stroking himself cautiously for fear of doing it inadequately, before he eventually picking up the speed, relishing the hot sensation that pooled in his stomach.

He stilled, suddenly aware of what he was doing.

This was _not_ a cleaning process.

Castiel had been watching Dean ...

He felt his face grow even warmer than the water that beat down on his flesh, disgusted by his own actions.

Dean had been _pleasuring_ himself.

Castiel grimaced, letting go abruptly  to run his hands beneath the spray, attempting to wash away his impure behaviour. He couldn’t _believe_ he hadn’t realised sooner, appalled by the fact that he had observed the man doing _that_ , for years.

The rest of his shower was met with disdain, and he ended it soon after, wrapping himself in one of the slightly coarse towels to dry off. He hadn’t bothered to wash his hair, decidedly leaving it to the following day when he wasn’t scolding himself for performing something so very crude.

He tied the towel around his waist as he walked over to the door, opening it slightly. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” The man called back, from some lower-levelled room presumably.

Castiel stepped into the hallway to make his way toward Dean’s bedroom. “What should I dress myself in?”

He could hear Dean’s soft laughter, and it made him feel slightly uneasy. He hadn’t said anything remotely humorous.

The man met him halfway, drying his hands on a kitchen towel as he thudded up the stairs, smiling. “You shouldn’t be standing around shirtless, dude. You’ll get sick.”

Castiel clutched at the top of the towel tighter, dragging it over his stomach to conceal more of his flesh. Even if he did get ill, he could simply heal himself with his blade, although he would refrain from doing such a thing unless it was rather serious.

Since he was meant to be considered human now, he would endure the same hardships.

But in this instance, he wished to conceal his body from the man – especially after the incident in the shower. To think that he had been deriving pleasure from such an activity was disturbing, and seeing Dean before him just made it worse; knowing the reason why his companion had found showering to be so pleasant.

He pushed the images from his mind as they walked into the room, desperate for them to leave him sane and prevent him from treating the man any differently.

Castiel was led over to the chest of drawers, stopping beside his companion, shivering. “Right, so until we get you kitted out with some stuff of your own, you’re gonna have to wear some of my clothes.” He pointed to the top left drawer, before pulling it open. “Underwear and socks,” he mumbled, drawing out a pair of plain white boxers and handing them to Castiel.

They were different in terms of material to the ones Castiel had been clothed in. These were loose and thin, his fingers almost visible beneath the cotton. The waistband seemed to be elasticised, but other than that, Castiel did not see how they would fit to his form.

Dean moved onto the wider drawer below it, grabbing both handles to drag it out. “These two middle ones have shirts and sweaters in – I don’t mind what you choose to wear. Just make sure it’s not too big on you first.”

Castiel nodded, reaching down to grab the closest garment he could, not really caring what it looked like. It was a faded grey tee with bright red capitalisation on it reading: ACDC. It would suffice, although when he looked at Dean, the man was smirking.

“Pants are in the lowest drawer, and again, I don’t mind what you choose so long as it’s close enough to your size. I’m fairly sure you wouldn’t want them falling down in public,” Dean grinned. “Now, you don’t need help getting yourself dressed or anything, do you?”

“No. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself ... but thank you for offering assistance,” Castiel replied, bending down to pick up the jeans he was wearing yesterday evening from the floor. He hadn’t worn them for very long, and they fit him relatively well, so for now they would do.

Dean laughed again, ruffling Castiel’s hair as he walked out of the bedroom. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

 

*

 

The drive to Dean’s workplace was satisfying, with Dean talking rather elatedly, and no matter how little or much Castiel knew about the many types of car before that point, he was most certainly more knowledgeable on the topic now.

As Dean pulled the car into the small parking lot, Castiel felt a slight twinge of pain behind his right eye. He ignored it of course, as bringing it up would most likely only cause Dean to worry – and it wasn’t exactly a cause for concern. There were plenty of plants about the area, and Castiel had seen a human react quite strangely to the inhalation of pollen, so he imagined it could only be something similar.

Castiel stepped into the garage before the man, skirting his eyes about the cluttered room. He let his gaze fall on Dean's workbench to the far left, raking over the numerous pens – probably no longer working, since Dean had a habit of scribbling aimlessly on blank sheets whilst on the phone or doing similar idle jobs – and forms that were half completed. Dean kept on top of the mess in his own home, but here it was incredibly unorganised. Castiel considered tidying it up whilst Dean worked, to both keep himself busy, and to succumb to the impulse of creating a sense of order.

He had always liked organisation, keeping things neat and easy to locate, if only for his own satisfaction. He _had_ had years of isolation, and such fruitless tasks had put his mind at ease, distracting him for the long periods of time he found himself with nothing to do.

Bobby was in the office, shouting down the phone at what Castiel could only assume was an employee, because no customer deserved to be spoken to in such a manner. The odd curse word was thrown in every now and again, which wasn't too much of a surprise. Dean swore a considerable amount more.

Dean nudged him in the ribs suddenly, smirking, but his eyes were looking elsewhere. Castiel didn't understand why Dean had chosen to attract his attention if all he was planning on doing was staring off at various car parts, so Cas decidedly followed the man's line of sight, only to see a young woman leaning against the passenger side of a very modern vehicle. She was of average height, or there about, with long dark hair. In terms of features, Castiel couldn't see her face incredibly well from the distance between them, not that it mattered.

"Hi there!" Dean chirped, brushing past Castiel toward the girl and her car. It wasn't as interesting to look at as Dean's impala was, but his opinion didn't really matter, nor was it necessary. He decided not to say anything to the man, letting him get on with his job.

Castiel strode over to Dean's bench, sitting down on the short stool to scour the table with his eyes again. He could hear Dean laughing with the girl, asking her about multiple other things that were in no way relevant to figuring out what exactly was wrong with the car, and Castiel felt slightly uneasy.

He lined up the pens along the farthest edge of the workbench, attempting to blot out the sound of laughter with his own thoughts. He didn't know why it irritated him. Dean had a nice laugh.

After a while, it stopped, and the laughter was replaced with Dean's 'serious' voice as he attempted to explain the issue to the customer. The girl kept giggling despite the fact that nothing Dean had just said was the slightest bit amusing, and it was even more of an annoyance. He didn’t like the attention Dean was receiving, not when it was for the wrong reasons. Most human relationships were peculiar, deeming physical attraction more important than that of the soul – or personality, as they would understand it.

Of course, relationships in Heaven could be seen to be no different, but angels generally paired for each other’s Grace. Castiel had learnt that it was his wings that repelled any form of affection, not his life energy.

Vanity always seemed to fall into the equation somehow.

Dean came over some minutes later, grinning and waving a small slip of paper. "Dude, I totally got her number!"

Castiel looked up at him, puzzled as to why Dean was making this known. If the man wished to court her, Castiel wasn't going to deprive Dean of possible happiness.

"Well done?" Castiel mumbled, unsure of what the ideal response to such a statement should be.

Dean looked at him quizzically before his expression softened. "You want me to set you up with someone?"

"No. No, I -"

Dean turned away suddenly as yet another car was directed through. Castiel sighed, returning to the pens lain out in front of him on the desk. It was ridiculous to think that he'd be able to sustain a conversation with the man at his workplace. He didn't mind sitting on his own for the next few hours regardless, especially since he'd endured years of isolation. This was virtually nothing in comparison.

He pulled across a blank sheet from one of Dean's notepads, testing several pens on the surface to find a working one before he started to draw. He'd never drawn anything for the sole purpose of passing the time, usually just to document the lives of those in his charge. It wasn’t a very common method for keeping records anymore, not since guardian angels were becoming lower in demand.

It wasn’t that humans didn’t _require_ a guardian; Raphael had just begun to make changes to the Garrison’s priorities. So many humans were beginning to be ignored, and that needed to change.

The drawing became a bizarre assortment of images, ranging from the car parts littering the shelves, to the few customers that drifted about. And Dean.

He didn't even need to look at the man to draw from anymore, memorising every detail, right down to the last freckle. The ink he drew with made the illustration process a little more difficult, the edges of each sketch holding a rough and jagged appearance in comparison to that of the smooth lines created by the pens in Heaven.

It didn't particularly matter about the quality of his drawings at this point, but it was a little frustrating when it came to shading the images. The ink became blotted and thick on the paper, distorting several sketches; none of which, thankfully, were of Dean. It became a simple matter of applying less pressure to the page and moving the pen faster across the paper's surface.

Within an hour, he'd filled three sheets with various random drawings; double sided so not to excessively waste the material, seeing as it hadn't belonged to him in the first place.

"Holy shit!"

Castiel hurriedly drew the sheets close to his chest, hugging them tightly so that Dean wouldn't see anymore than he already had. He'd never liked it when the others had looked at his illustrations. Theirs were always so much better than his own, and it made his ability look terrible in comparison.

"Aww, c'mon, Cas," Dean chuckled, dropping to his knees to sit down beside the stool. "I just wanna look."

Castiel frowned, glancing at the now-crumpled papers in his arms. Dean was not judgemental. He was kind, and if anything he would only compliment. Castiel shouldn’t have been worried about how Dean ranked his talent, because he knew that they were fairly poor in quality himself.

Carefully, he smoothed out the papers on his lap, running his hands over the creases to try and straighten the pages a little before handing them to Dean. The man smiled up at him momentarily, letting his gaze wander over the images.

Castiel looked away, staring down at his own hands as he twirled the black pen between his fingers. He'd never been one to fidget, but he merely assumed it was a human trait that he'd adapted to in his short time on earth. He wasn’t sure just how long it would take before his mind and his body became synchronised in terms of dealing with so many new-found habits and emotions.

What confused him exceedingly so, was the fact that he found himself writhing with nervous energy. He'd also never been the sort of creature to become so anxious to hear what someone else had to say, and yet here he considered Dean's opinion more important than anyone else's.

"These are really fucking amazing, dude," Dean whispered, and Castiel could hear him flipping the sheets over. "They're so detailed! And you didn't even sketch it in fucking pencil first!"

Castiel could feel the heat spread across his cheeks and he scowled. His body was acting of its own accord again, and he was becoming agitated. He didn't like how vulnerable it made him appear, nor did he appreciate the way it made him feel inside. "Thank you," he mumbled, happy that Dean thought him talented, no matter how amateur his illustrations looked, but frustrated that he couldn't keep his own sentiments under control.

Dean made some sort of humming sound as he continued to flip through the work. "Can I keep them?" Dean asked softly. "Or do you want them back?"

Castiel's lips twitched very slightly, but he compressed the smile. "If you truly want them, then yes. You may keep them." He only hoped he didn’t seem smug, because his work truly wasn't as impressive as that of his brethren. He felt like something of a fraud, receiving so much credit for the moderate talent he had been provided with.

The man stood up, tucking the drawings in a virtually empty drawer attached to the workbench, smiling, as per usual. "So you draw me often then, or is this a new hobby?" Dean grinned, leaning against the table to face him.

"I always draw the humans in my charge. It’s relaxing," he replied, placing the pen back on the cluttered tabletop.

Dean just nodded, ruffling Castiel's hair as he strolled past. "I'll be back in a minute, dude."

Castiel rotated on the stool to follow Dean with his eyes, deciding he could watch Dean work for a while. Dean's employment was fairly interesting, although somewhat intricate. Castiel had watched humanity long enough to know the ins-and-outs of how to fix machinery and the like. After all, he'd spent quite a while without anyone to watch over, and other than the odd sketch of the developing planet, he hadn't really had much else to occupy those years. He could quite easily do what Dean could.

But he probably wouldn't do it as well.

Dean was in his element here, having practically grown up in this place. As a boy, he spent his summer vacation in the garage, helping his father out to earn a small amount of money.

Dean had been saving up to buy the impala from John when he was older, initially, working every available day right here until Bobby gave him a minor job for the weekend. Obviously because Dean had been so young, he was placed in charge of sorting car parts in the store cupboard, or answering the phone because he'd always been confident in his ability to talk to strangers.

After Mary's death, Dean spent more time in the garage - as much time as he could in actual fact - sometimes skipping school with the knowledge that John had a day off, conscious that Bobby wouldn't scold him for it. Dean began to work excessively so during his time here, saving up his wages to afford college tuition.

But then, John had seen this as an opportunity to cease work, figuring that he could thrive off of the small income Dean was providing, and wasting the majority on alcohol and the like.

Such a spectacle had Castiel seething with rage, and he had been forced to observe, from what was effectively a prison in Heaven, Dean struggle on to afford for the family of three.

Castiel watched the way Dean opened the bonnet of the woman's car from earlier again, pushing up the sleeves of his plaid shirt before he began to fiddle with the cabling. Castiel couldn't see what Dean was doing overly well, but he watched nonetheless, never before observing from such a close distance. He smiled whenever Dean glanced back at him, always grinning. Castiel stood up slowly when Dean's back was turned to him once more and made his way over. He didn't think sneaking up on the man would be incredibly fair, so he situated himself to Dean's left so not to be too much of a surprise.

Tentatively, he slipped a hand through the short hairs atop Dean's head, mimicking Dean's earlier gesture, just making it gentle instead of rough.

Not that he had minded how Dean had handled the strands before.

Dean looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, corners of his mouth quirking a little. "Hey, buddy."

"Hello, Dean," he said softly, withdrawing his hand again. Dean rose up next to him, stepping close enough for their chests to touch and bringing up a palm to rest it on Castiel's cheek.

He began to feel uneasy as Dean leaned closer, but he stood still compliantly. Dean wouldn't hurt him, so there was nothing to be afraid of.

And then their foreheads were being pushed together lightly, and Castiel relaxed, shutting his eyes. He wasn't sure why Dean kept doing this, but it was nice, and Castiel felt safe.

"You gonna draw me like one of your French girls when we get home?"

Castiel reopened his eyes, meeting Dean's lazy stare. "I don't understand that reference," he admitted, watching the smile play on Dean's lips.

The man wiped his thumb across Castiel's cheekbone and he couldn't help but recoil from the wet touch, swiping at his face to remove whatever it was that lingered on his flesh. His fingers came back smudged with grey, the oily substance staining his skin. Dean laughed, stepping aside to continue fixing the vehicle.

Castiel stared down at his hands once more, rubbing his fingers together experimentally to find that they slid together with ease, before returning his gaze to Dean's face.

He stepped forward, carefully dragging his fingers over Dean's left cheek, and smirking at the sight of the dark smears on his companion’s skin. Dean threw a look of insincere annoyance his way before lunging forward to grapple Castiel's waist and turn him around, sliding a hand beneath his shirt to tarnish Castiel's stomach with the strange oil.

Castiel squirmed beneath the touch, reaching over his shoulder to wipe his fingers over Dean's nose, his chin - anywhere he could reach. Dean had the advantage, letting his other hand trail over Castiel's neck and jaw, leaving more of the greasy substance in the process. Castiel used his free hand to tug at one of Dean's; the one roaming beneath his clothing, to be more precise.

He hadn’t been this playful with someone since being a mere fledgling, having no other means to occupy his time as he waited for his wings to be unsheathed.

"Dean ... stop it. That feels strange!" Castiel huffed, pulling at Dean's wrist gently so not to hurt the man.

"Are you ticklish?" Dean asked against the shell of his ear. "Is that what it is?"

Castiel pressed his fingers against Dean's lips to stop him from talking, glancing back to give him a warning stare. Dean just winked at him, slowing his movement beneath Castiel's shirt, only to make it lighter and more delicate. The touch was bizarre, and his body jerked beneath it involuntarily. Dean was grinning now, humming softly as he continued to massage Castiel's skin.

"Dean! Please!" He yelped, bringing his other hand down to pull the man’s hand away. "Stop it!"

He hoped Bobby would come through, or another employee or customer - just anyone! This was too much!

The laughter that broke free from his lips sounded alien and peculiar - it wasn't like the regular laugh he was used to, this was brash and uncontrollable, and unusual considering his situation. He was on the verge of begging Dean to stall the motion - desperate to catch his breath - when Dean finally let him go.

In the sense that Dean stopped smearing the oil over his skin, that is.

Castiel found himself resting against Dean's chest, panting, yet unwilling to pull away so soon.

"That was torture, Dean. It wasn't fair."

The man ran his hand over Castiel's stomach almost cautiously, coming to a stop just above his navel. "You want me to make it up to you?" Dean's voice was low and rough, and the words were spoken ever so close to Castiel's ear, breath gracing his skin and making it tingle.

Castiel didn't know why his face begun to grow warmer at that moment. Dean was merely apologising, "N-no. It’s fine. I forgive you," he uttered hastily. He didn't bother tugging at Dean's wrist any longer, bringing his own hands up to pull at the hem of his shirt, hoping Dean would catch on and withdraw his hand so that Castiel could conceal his torso properly.

The man took his time, resting his head on Castiel's shoulder and lowering his left arm so that it was wrapped around his chest. "Sorry about making you all dirty."

"And yet you haven't ceased the gesture," Castiel stressed, wriggling a little as the hand beneath his shirt kept tracing over his skin. The oil was making his skin itch slightly and he just wanted to be rid of its grimy texture.

Dean relinquished his grip after several more moments, smoothing the fabric of Castiel's tee with his palms so that it looked a little more respectable, although somewhat filthy, before directing him toward the small basin just a short distance away. Castiel looked up at Dean when they got there, grinning at the sight of the faded grey marks dotted around the man's features. He felt slightly bad for touching Dean's mouth, figuring that the taste would most likely be a terrible one if the appalling scent that accompanied it was anything to go by. Not only that, but he'd distracted Dean from completing his work on that young woman's vehicle. Dean was still smiling in spite of this fact, shoving Castiel lightly when their eyes met. "Stop staring at me. You look just as ridiculous, y'know."

Castiel shrugged, twisting the knob on the tap and thrusting his palms beneath the jet of water. He scowled as the water just ran off of the oily surface, substance unaffected by the warm spray owing to its apparent waterproof properties. Dean pushed a bar of soap into his hands, and Castiel's mind was unwillingly filled with memories of that morning. He tried not to let his discomfort show as he coated his skin with the lather, avoiding eye contact with his companion.

He didn't need Dean asking him what the cause of his fluster was. He didn't need to be questioned about something so incredibly inappropriate.

And he most certainly didn't want to dwell on such coarse thoughts.

Castiel scrubbed at his fingertips, relieved when the residue became less apparent on his skin's surface, but overly irritated that his face, neck, and abdomen were still coated in the unpleasant substance. He reached for the towel to dry his hands a little before he lifted the shirt Dean had leant him over his head, cringing at the sight of the grease-like stains.

He shouldn't have retaliated in the first place. Dean's clothing would have remained in fairly good condition, and he wouldn't have felt so uncomfortable afterwards.

He ignored Dean, noting the man's stare trained on him. If he were to meet Dean's line of sight, he would most likely have to converse, and he wasn't in the mood for talking right now. In all honesty, he could think of nothing worse than being confronted and asked why he didn't look, for example, very happy. He wasn't feeling very well; the stench of the oil was burning the inside of his nostrils, and the addition of strongly perfumed soap was making his head spin.

He couldn’t help but discern the sharp pain that detonated in his cranium, pressing against the sides of his skull and burning at his brain.

This wasn’t anything to do with the chemicals at all.

He became somewhat weak at the knees and he sunk to the floor, dropping the bar of soap from between his hands to clutch the bridge of his nose. The ache was back – even more so than before – and his whole skull throbbed with the pain. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, bringing his knees up to his chest to bury his face against his legs, desperate to blot out the surrounding light as the throb pressed at his eyes.

Dean was next to him, but what he was saying was difficult to comprehend as a loud ringing sounded in his ears. Castiel began to panic; the claustrophobic feeling pushing in from all around him, making him feel impossibly small and pathetic. Everything suddenly became too overbearing – he felt restricted and incapable of moving from the shrunken position he had coiled himself into - and he wanted to shut everything out. He wanted the ringing to stop, the red to vanish from his sight, and the sharp headache to subside once and for all.

The ground dropped from beneath him as the shade of red shrouded his entirety, senses numbing considerably before everything went black.

 

*

 

There was the faint sound of voices, bouncing off the walls and creating a light echo in the room as the fog lifted from Castiel's mind, as the dull pain made itself known behind his closed eyelids. He wanted to return to the land of nothingness; the place where he'd been undisturbed, and he was able to dream in the continuous silence of his own company.

There was a bright light somewhere nearby, and although Castiel's eyes were closed, it hurt to have such an intensity aimed at his face. He hastily twisted away; gasping when he rolled into whomever was lying beside him, burying his face beneath the fabric concealing his own upper body so that he wouldn't have so see who it was. Castiel hated how he was feeling right now, and the thought of opening his eyes to the too-bright location was not a particularly appealing one, even if he may be opening them to see Dean's face.

He dreaded to think that he'd upset the man by ignoring him earlier. Castiel didn't want to be exposed to that just yet, clinging to the only remaining shred of will power he had left. He kept his eyes shut and his breathing steady; swallowing the panic that climbed its way up his chest, constricting his throat. He could feel the sweat on his skin, mixing with the sticky residue of the oil, and he shuddered uncontrollably, resisting the urge to let his tears spill. They made his eyes sting, but they would make him seem weaker than he already looked. He didn't want Dean to be ashamed for having such a pathetic and impotent angel as his guardian.

Castiel _wanted_ to cry; he had so much pent up anger and annoyance for himself, and other than screaming for hours - which would be the most nonsensical solution – this would be the easiest method for such a release.

He let his muscles relax at this conclusion, and the tears ran free without so much as an unpleasant sniffling on his part. He was relieved he could cry in quiet, even if he did have company. He wouldn't be disturbing them this way, and it would most likely be less embarrassing in the long run.

There was a hand on his face within a few seconds of the wetness touching his cheeks, brushing away the tears tentatively as they continued to roll over his skin. He didn't need to guess who it was, remembering Dean doing the very same thing just the night prior, and recalling the same gentleness - the same careful movements - Castiel shuffled closer, sighing as Dean's arms wrapped around him.

 _Safe_.

The ache was less prominent in his skull and he was beginning to find it easier to repose in Dean's company. Castiel pressed his head forward until it came into contact with the man's chest, finding comfort in the warmth of his torso. He couldn't see the dim light of Dean's soul through closed eyes, and for that he was grateful, finally able to rest.

Dean was whispering something against the top of his head, lips brushing his hair every so often, but Castiel - no matter how hard he strained his ears - was unable to hear it, finding a certain kind of satisfaction in just knowing Dean was talking to him.

He shouldn't have been so comfortable, relying upon Dean's presence to chase the anxiety and fright from Castiel's mind. _He_ was meant to be protecting Dean.

But the thought of Dean caring for him made him happier than he should have been, pleased that the man was responding so well to the bond they shared together.

Castiel pressed even closer, letting his chest meld to Dean's despite the thin layer of fabric that separated them, bringing his hands up to curl them in the material of Dean's shirt.

_Safe._

With Dean, he had nothing to worry about.

 

*

 

"... No, he's fine. He doesn't need to go to the hospital."

Castiel inhaled deeply as Dean's voice sounded in his ears. From what he could tell, the man's face was directly beside his own, breathing heavily on Castiel's cheek as he continued to talk to whomever it was conducting a conversation. Castiel didn't want to open his eyes just yet, content with the knowledge that Dean was close, and he was safe.

"How do you know that? For all you know, he could be avin' some sorta allergic reaction to the stuff!"

Dean tightened his grip around Castiel's shoulders, and Castiel rolled toward him, feeling Dean's lips press to his forehead. "He's gonna be fine, Bobby. I know he will."

Dean's voice was soft, and low, and Castiel was grateful he could finally hear it again. He breathed in his companions musky scent, somewhat tainted by that of the soap and oil, nuzzling beneath the man's jaw with his face to feel the rough scrape of stubble against his skin. Dean chuckled softly, running a hand over the small of Castiel's back to bring them flush together once more. "And if he was having an allergic reaction, it would be probably be kinda clear. Cas isn't acting any different to normal, so for now I'm just gonna assume there's no pain or anything."

Castiel sighed heavily against Dean's neck. "No pain."

Dean laughed again. "Welcome back, Mr. Comatose! You feeling any better now?"

He nodded shyly, opening his eyes a little, only to find the bare minimum of light in the room. A lamp in the corner emitted a warm light that bled over Dean's clothing and skin. Castiel found the atmosphere to be quite pleasant.

Dean hugged him closer. "Shit, I was so worried, Cas. You started freaking out and then you just sort of collapsed!"

"I'm fine now, Dean," he whispered, feeling the burn at the back of his throat as tears began to prick his eyes again. He'd made Dean worried, and sad, judging by the man's soul, and he felt terrible for it. "Are you ... are you alright?"

"You just fucking passed out and you're asking if I'm okay?!" Dean cried, raking his hands through Castiel's hair desperately. "You're such an idiot!"

"I apologise for considering your well being more important," Castiel snapped, writhing uncomfortably in Dean's arms. The tears had made his voice thick and constrained, and he hoped Dean wouldn't notice the difference, turning his head to the side to prevent them from dampening his companion's clothing. He could see Bobby staring at them from the corner of his eye so he buried his head beneath Dean's chin again, no longer caring if the man caught him crying or not. He would prefer to have Dean as the only person to ever see him cry than someone who he shared no bond with, as harsh as that may sound. He trusted Dean excessively.

Castiel let himself come undone completely, all the emotion he couldn't let out before, he let out now: his dislike for his fellow angels and how they'd directed Dean towards a disastrous and early end, the pain he'd endured to get to earth, and the frustration overall of not being able to control himself emotionally. He didn't ever want to worry the man - there were so many things he'd been aiming to avoid, but now his entire plan was crumbling around him. He never thought he'd be so vulnerable and he'd never even begun to fathom that it would be Dean comforting him, as opposed to him comforting Dean. Castiel had never considered the possibility that the addition of human emotion would take its toll, and that he'd be relying on Dean to aid him through it. The man had enough to be concerned about without adding Castiel's emotional difficulties to the situation.

At some point, Bobby must have let them be, for when Castiel turned his head to apologise to the older man, he was nowhere in sight. In a way, he was relieved. He could spend time alone with Dean now, even if it would only be for a short while, and he could be completely honest without the presence of another.

"Dean ..." he whispered again, draping an arm over the man's hip to reciprocate the hug. He was beginning to find such close contact rather comforting. "I'm sorry." Timidly, he pressed his lips to Dean's neck, aware that he could quite possibly be crossing a line, but he didn't care. He was grateful that Dean had stayed with him throughout this awful experience.

His companion stiffened, but soon relaxed, shuffling down whatever it was they were laying on to kiss him hard on the cheek, in spite of the tears that stained the surface of Castiel's skin.

"Shut up, you idiot," Dean mumbled, no real fervour behind the spoken words - it was more like a gentle prompt than anything else. In spite of everything that had happened, Castiel laughed. It wasn't the same as earlier where it had been forced from his body; it was soft and regular like it should have been. It was _his._

"Well, that's cute," the man hummed against his cheek, breath hot and clingy on Castiel's damp flesh, but not in an unpleasant way. There was a pause as Dean adjusted his arm beneath Castiel's head. "You feel well enough to go home now, dude?"

"What about your work?"

"Bobby's given me the day off to make sure you're okay. You need to rest," Dean said, and Castiel had that unsettling feeling in his chest again. Dean was taking time off of work because Castiel had caused him to become stressed and upset. Castiel was disrupting Dean's schedule, and that would overall affect Sam, and Sam needed to remain well or Dean would become even more distressed ...

Things were beginning to worsen, and in the end, it all came down to Castiel's attempts to help the man. He was making everything so very problematic, and if anything he was doing more worse than good. Dean's soul wasn't even the slightest bit yellow anymore; dull blues crowded the orb with the tiniest amount of pink in the centre. Castiel only wished he could change the way Dean felt with his Grace.

If they were to return to the Winchester residence, Castiel could attempt to tamper with Dean's feelings. Of course, his ability would be significantly weaker, and he didn't even know if emotional change was possible with the aid of his blade alone, but he would try. Dean deserved that much.

"If you're sure that would be best," Castiel sniffed, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his right hand, careful to avoid Dean's features that were still nestled against his skin. "Then I will happily comply."

It was only once he struggled to sit up did he realise that he was still shirtless, the cool air around him making him shiver and clutch at the scratchy blanket that had been draped over himself and the man beside him. Looking around, he concluded that they were in Bobby's office, resting on the tattered couch that resided by the doorway. He’d always thought it strange that the man would have such a homely piece of furniture in his room of business.

Dean made some sort of grunting noise, rising up his palms behind him and prodding Castiel in the back lightly with a finger. Castiel looked across at him curiously, cocking his head to the side as Dean leant closer. The man's face was clean now, free of the oily marks Castiel had decorated his flesh with however long ago it was. He wasn't overly fussed about the time, but he was interested in how long Dean had spent watching over him. It made him feel warm at the thought of swapping roles for a while, although he was still marginally angry that he had kept Dean from working, and obviously for the fact that he had done such a poor job of looking after Dean up until this point – and even then he hadn't particularly helped the man.

He met Dean halfway, smiling when their foreheads came into contact. Their eyes met and Castiel didn't want to look away, feeling Dean's breath dance over his lips and his tear stricken face. In a way, their actions were somewhat intimate, but he’d seen how Dean had behaved around his previous partners, and this was somewhat different. He liked the way it made him feel, being able to position himself so closely to the man.

Castiel drew back to rise from the settee, letting the warm burst of energy roll through his chest when Dean's hands rested on his hips, steadying him as he regained his balance. Castiel's neck felt stiff from lying in such a cramped position for so long and he desperately wanted to move around, his legs becoming somewhat numb during his time with Dean although they weren't painful. It was just a struggle to get them to cooperate.

Dean looked up at him sympathetically. "You're still a little shaky, dude. We can stay here for as long as you need to."

Castiel just shook his head. "No, I'm quite alright. I'm just tired."

"You have any idea what's making you go all Sleeping Beauty?" The man questioned, glancing down at Castiel's stomach and smirking slightly. Castiel followed Dean's stare and grimaced when he took sight of the dark stains across his abdomen. He had been wondering why his skin had felt so odd, merely owing it to the fact he was not wearing any clothing on his upper body.

"Not really. I think it ..." the press of Dean's palms against his sides made his breath hitch, and he began to watch the way Dean's fingers played across his ribs, distracted. "... You ..."

His companion raised an eyebrow. "Me?" He asked coyly, easing his hands back over Castiel's waist.

Castiel could feel the burn at the tips of his ears, but he continued to watch the man. "I didn't mean that ... but it could be the bond. I've never encountered an issue like this before."

He only hoped it wasn't their connection. He'd never heard of an angel combating such an intense pain after meeting the human they shared a bond with. There hadn't been many who met with their charge before, but there had been no records of angels suffering from such visits. Perhaps Castiel was pushing it by remaining on earth, or by being in Dean's presence constantly - or it could even be owed to the strength of their bond.

But he didn't want to leave.

"Whoa, whoa, don't start crying again, Cas – we can sort this out!" Dean stammered, standing up hastily and cupping Castiel's jaw, smile vanishing from his face. "What else could it be?"

Castiel bit his lower lip, rummaging through his thoughts to come to some other plausible conclusion, attempting to remember the last time he felt a similar pain. It wasn’t torture, because that would require several sigils to be carved into Castiel’s form, and his body was free from any recent scarring – and it couldn’t be the war, because he’d cut off all ties to his brethren, “The introduction of emotion?"

“So once you get to grips with everything, it should stop, right?” The man pressed, and Castiel forced a smile.

“I hope that is the case.”

 

*

 

They remained seated in the vehicle for some time in silence before Dean started up the engine. Castiel twined his hands together on his lap, fiddling with the hem of the oily shirt he had been wearing earlier as Dean hadn't attempted to engage them in conversation. Castiel merely assumed that the man didn't wish to talk, so he kept quiet, happy to stay that way until Dean willed him to speak again.

He kept glancing over at the man to see a grim expression on his features. Castiel wasn't sure if he was to blame or not, but he would take it should Dean insist it upon him. He couldn't help but think of their bond, wondering if it truly was the cause of his discomfort, and whether there was anything they could do to change that - if there was anything _he_ could do to change that. He didn't need to involve Dean in such complicated matters.

Castiel rested his head against the door panel, staring out of the open window as they drove past row, after row, of virtually identical housing. He was glad Dean didn't live in this part of town, as the sight of each cloned house drifting past was beginning to make him feel nauseous. The fresh air sweeping over his face helped as he closed his eyes, feeling the peculiar vibration from the car resound through his bones as they drove down the street.

He didn't want to think about the headache again until another should arise, making Dean's happiness his priority once more. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Dean was more important than any bout of irritation.

Dean switched on the radio after a while, and Castiel cringed at the loud volume. He wasn't going to complain. That was the second rule of staying with Dean: no complaining.

He inhaled deeply as he twisted a little in the seat to get comfortable, slipping off his sneakers as he brought his knees up to his chest so not to mark the leather with the soles of his shoes. He wouldn't have thought it initially, but it was a relatively comfortable position, although it made him feel somewhat insignificant and cowardly. It was a weak position, vulnerable and submissive.

But he knew he was safe with Dean, as was Dean safe with him. Castiel, no matter how weak he appeared, would give his life to make sure Dean remained out of harm's way. Always.

He could feel the exhaustion burn at his eyes. He wanted to sleep, but it was too bright and too early – and Dean wouldn't be too amused should Castiel fall unconscious again.

He kept his eyes closed, but the rest of his senses alert, digging his fingers into his biceps every time he felt the probing darkness ebb at his mind, letting his eyelids flutter open momentarily before blotting out the sunlight as much as he could with his forearm.

It was around about midday, but it didn’t feel right. His weariness was affecting him too early on for it to be considered average. He writhed in his seated position, head feeling heavy, and limbs cramped against his chest. He wanted Dean to talk to him, even if it was to point out something as meagre as a cloud in the sky. Castiel wanted conversation to keep him conscious, to keep him occupied.

He could feel the ache lingering behind his closed eyes again, and he choked out a whimper, kneading his temple with his left palm.

“Cas?”

Castiel slapped away the hand that tapped his bicep, pressing his skull between his knees. His throat constricted almost immediately and he struggled to draw in a breath, crying out harshly as his entire body tensed. Pain shot through his form; a tight and crippling heat that burned at his muscle and the sharp heat scoring his shoulders as his wings pressed against his inner flesh.

_No, no, no – this couldn’t happen now!_

He pressed his back against the leather seat to keep them compressed firmly, willing for them to stop.

The skin felt wet and the shirt clung to his shoulder blades, a brutal sting jolting down his spine as the cotton dragged over the wounds. His body was too weak for him to sheathe his wings should they burst free so soon, and it would hurt.

He couldn’t ease it without his Grace.

The car came to an abrupt halt, and the back of Dean’s palm was against his forehead in an instant, the cool flesh soothing against his skin, but doing nothing to aid the pain coursing throughout the rest of his body. It wasn’t Dean’s fault – Dean didn’t possess any kind of ability to heal wounds.

And yet suddenly, it was gone; the agony subsiding into a slight twinge that disappeared entirely after several moments, and Castiel gasped, slumping against the soft padding behind him. He felt his wings twist back into his body, the bare minimum of feathers catching on the seam of his skin. But he couldn’t care. The pain was nowhere near as brutal as before.

Dean’s touch dropped from his face, instead twining his fingers with Castiel’s to link their hands together. “Does it hurt anymore?”

Castiel shook his head feebly, squeezing Dean’s hand in reassurance. He felt fatigued and pitiable, and when he opened his eyes, the world spun in a blur of bright colours. It made him feel sick to see the planet distort around him, watching the sky blend with the trees in the distance. At least, he thought they were trees. It was hard to distinguish between them and the remaining landscape now that they had reached the more rural area.

 “S-sorry,” he mumbled slowly, allowing his eyelids to flutter shut. “For alarming you.”

 

*

 

The angel stirred at about three in the afternoon, keeping very quiet despite Dean's attempts to talk to him. It was understandable, of course. Castiel still looked exhausted, and somewhat frightened, shying away from Dean's touch every time he drew near. Dean tried not to take offense at this, smiling brightly and placing the angel blade beside Cas' slight figure.

It hadn't been overly obvious at first, but he noticed the blood stains on the back of Castiel's shirt, seeping through the light gray cotton and drying to the material. He stopped everything at the sight of the wounds. "Cas..."

Castiel just stared up at him, eyes wide and confused. He didn't respond, but he looked incredibly worried.

"What happened to your back?" He asked softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Cas shivered a little, so Dean placed a hand on his arm, rubbing the skin to warm him up as carefully as he could, not wanting to hurt the guy in any way.

"My wings," Castiel murmured, shutting his eyes. "Tried to break free."

Dean cursed, glancing at the dark stains again. That'd probably been the reason why Cas had been in so much pain earlier, having something try to force itself out of his tiny body in accompaniment to those headaches. Dean wasn't sure on what to say, incredibly worried for the angel's wellbeing. He imagined there’d be more, given the fact that Castiel had gone through two headaches today already.

"What should I do, Dean?" Cas asked, a slight tremble to his voice. He clutched the blade to his chest, letting the pretty glow wash over his body.

Dean lay down beside the angel so their eyes could meet, attempting a smile to give him comfort. "Well, do you want to talk? That could help get your mind off of things."

"You think that will help?" Castiel inquired, shuffling back across the mattress to make more room. Dean followed so he wasn't directly on the edge, ensuring that there was still some distance between himself and the angel, just in case Castiel hadn't been fond of the close contact they shared before.

Dean had crossed _way_ too many lines earlier - not that Cas noticed or anything, but that was half of the problem - and Dean knew that Castiel might not appreciate an invasion of personal space.

But it was Cas who had refused to let go in the first place, clinging to Dean’s shirt and holding on for dear life, even if he was unconscious or whatever. He had to admit that Cas had been really fucking adorable curled up beneath his chin, with his hands twisting in the fabric of Dean's clothes, and it just ...

It made him feel _wanted_ for once; even if it was simply for a source of heat, Castiel had clung to him with a sense of need, and that made Dean kind of happy. Sure, cuddling wasn't really his thing, but with Cas, his discomfort wasn't actually unbearable. And even then, it wasn't like the angel moved much while he was sleeping, remaining pretty much the same for the two hours they lay there.

Okay, so maybe he liked it a little - but that wasn't to say he'd do it again.

"It could," Dean shrugged, flipping onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He imagined talking would distract the guy for a while, so he wouldn't have to think about the pain and stuff.

"Oh. Well, would you like your shirt back?" Castiel began, sidling closer. "I've gotten rid of the blood and oil stains to save you the trouble."

Dean chuckled softly, turning his head to face the angel. "Thanks ... but it looks good on you. I want you to keep it."

Castiel smiled, and Dean could feel the butterflies start up in his own chest. He wasn't going to ask how Castiel cleaned the shirt, and there was no way in hell he was going to tell Cas how hot it was to see him in an _ACDC_ shirt, let alone the fact that it was Dean's.

"If we’re going to talk, will you tell me about your issues with college, or are you still uncomfortable conversing with me about such matters?"

Dean sighed, facing the ceiling once more. "It’s got nothing to do with talking to _you_ , Cas. It’s just talking about it in general."

Castiel should know what’s been going on anyway, having watched over him for the past twenty-two years.

"That's why I want you to talk about it," the angel continued, placing a hand on Dean's chest. It was a gentle touch, soft and warm, and Dean only wished Castiel would move closer to share heat. "The more you talk about it, the better you'll feel."

Dean worried his lower lip between his teeth. He knew Castiel was right, but this shouldn't even be considered a cause for concern. What _should_ be addressed was what Dean got up to during high school, because that had most definitely changed him for the worst.

"Can't you just read my mind? I'm not very good with words ..."

He knew it wasn’t talking as such, but it was easier than describing everything, wasn’t it? And it would be distracting for the angel, and that was the most important aspect.

"Are you sure?"

Dean nodded sullenly. "Yeah, so long as you don't go probing around in there or anything."

He didn't want Cas coming across last nights dream, because _holy fuck_ that would add, like, ten different kinds of awkward to their friendship.

Jesus ... that had been one hell of a dream though.

Suddenly Dean could feel this ... cool sensation against his temple - it was hard to explain the _exact_ feeling, but it was weird, in a good way - and he began to push all his thoughts on college to the front of his mind, along with everything else in life that had enhanced his negative attitude toward living. He figured that was what he had to do, right? Because otherwise Cas could see all kinds of weird shit.

The hand on his chest clenched the fabric of his shirt, and for a second, he was worried he'd hurt the angel with his flood of memories and opinions. But just like that the touch on his mind was gone, and Castiel physically relaxed,

"You didn't hurt me," Castiel mumbled. Dean looked down at him to see that pained expression on Cas' face. "But I would have deserved it if you had."

"Shut up. How many times am I gonna have to tell you it wasn't your fault, before you actually listen to me?" Dean chided. Castiel shouldn’t be blaming himself for something that Dean had totally forgiven him for already. And regardless, it hadn’t actually been the guy’s fault in the first place, so to hear Cas go on about it again kind of irritated him.

“Just because _you_ told me it wasn’t my fault, doesn’t mean it’s true,” Castiel scowled, pulling away.

So Dean sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the mattress to climb off the bed.

If Cas was gonna sulk about how he was to blame for everything, even though they both knew that wasn't the case, then Dean wasn't gonna hang around to listen.

"Come find me when you stop being such an idiot."

Cas needed to learn that moping wasn’t going to get him anywhere in life, and that to do it over something they’d already fucking resolved was ridiculous.

Dean grabbed his jacket from his wardrobe on his way out of the room, even if he was only going to sit in the car. Part of him wanted to go for a run, but that would mean hanging around in the house longer to get changed, and he couldn't really be bothered. He'd go tomorrow when he didn't have to worry about Castiel's stupid headaches.

He couldn't really stray far from the house at the moment, even if Sam was there to look out for the guy. Sammy would freak out big-time if Castiel started walking around with a pair of big ass wings on his back - and anyway, Cas probably wouldn't want to explain all that crap to the kid.

Was Dean being selfish by storming out like that?

What if Cas started bleeding again - or if he ended up having a seizure or something?

Dean stopped walking, turning back to look at the doorway to his bedroom. Castiel would be scared and in pain, and Dean wouldn't be there to help him through it – even if his being there didn’t help ease the physical aspect, he could still be there for comfort.

Slowly, he retraced his steps, sinking to the floor beside the opening and resting back against the wall. This way, he wouldn't be too far away should Cas encounter any problems, but he also wouldn't have to talk to the guy unless Castiel actually grew a pair and found Dean of his own accord.

He hoped it would be sooner rather than later, because the prospect of ignoring the angel was not one he was particularly fond of, given how close they'd been earlier that day. Maybe Dean shouldn't have gotten so worked up in the first place.

He’d become irritated over something so small – something that could have probably been resolved with a couple more sentences consisting of comforting and reassuring words to make Cas believe him.

Maybe _Dean_ was the one who should man up and apologise.

That's when he felt the weird touch on his mind again, and he froze, building up a wall of nothingness at the forefront of his thoughts to prevent Castiel from seeing anything.

 _Stop reading my mind, asshole,_ he shot forward, hating how his thoughts were restricted, and how vulnerable it made him feel knowing that Castiel could see absolutely _anything_ in his head. It wasn’t fair.

The feeling disappeared, but Dean held up the barrier nonetheless, just in case Castiel tried that little stunt again. He closed his eyes, rubbing his brow in frustration. Weekends were meant to be relaxing - and Dean had taken time off for this. He barely ever took time off - Thursday being the obvious exception because Sam had asked him too - and to drop work to hang around with someone he'd known for two fucking days was ridiculous.

Sure, Cas was hot, and maybe it was really sweet of the angel to want to help him and all, but he didn’t need this sort of distraction right now. Maybe once he’d finished college and everything had been sorted out work-wise, but now was just fucking terrible. It wasn’t the guy’s fault, because it genuinely all came down to Cas wanting to make Dean happy, but Dean didn’t really see how that was going to work out.

Maybe the attraction he had to Cas excited him a little, but it didn’t make him _happy_. He’d been in relationships before where he’d kidded himself that he finally was happy, when in reality, everything was still a mess: school, work – just life in general!

Pretty much everything he’d just admitted to the angel.

There was no escaping this _darkness_ that tampered with everything he’d ever actually liked. It was becoming more and more difficult to just get up in the morning, fully aware that there were still those who would criticise him in spite of how hard he was working. Dean could see how everyone looked at him – even Lisa, who stopped to talk to him sometimes, had that same hidden pity that made Dean feel sick.

He didn’t want to be pitied – he just didn’t want to feel so fucking alone!

Castiel couldn’t help him with that. Not really. In the end, Dean would probably end up pushing him away like he’d done with everyone else who had ever attempted to get closer than necessary, even if Cas knew him better than most.

He sighed heavily, throwing his head back until it hit the wall. It didn’t hurt as much as he’d wanted it to, but it throbbed a little and that was good enough for him. He let his eyes flutter open again, cursing at the sight of Castiel sitting in front of him.

"What the fuck, dude?!"

"You told me to find you when I stopped being an idiot, and I was not an idiot in the first place, Dean."

Dean stared at him callously. It sort of annoyed him how facetious Cas was, even if it wasn’t intentional.

"Then stop acting like one. You know, I thought that you of all people would trust me, given that you think I’m so wonderful or whatever it is that makes you think I deserve help from you ..." Dean kneaded his left temple with his fingertips, biting his lower lip again. "You were given orders, and you followed them, because that’s normal: obeying people with more power. But you know what? Even if this was your fault, I still wouldn't give a damn. You've seen past my flaws and you still want to hang around with me, which is more than I can say for most of the people I consider to be friends."

Castiel remained quiet before him, and that only made Dean feel worse. He he'd just opened his heart to the guy and Cas couldn’t even come up with a response. Hell, he would have been fucking content with a pat on the shoulder or something – at least he would have known Cas was making an effort – but the fact that the angel didn’t do anything really pissed him off.

He clambered to his feet again, heading down the stairs to get to the front door, in dire need of fresh air. His heart was hammering away in his chest and he felt like he was suffocating, desperate to actually isolate himself from Castiel for the time being.

 

*

 

Castiel had no words.

He didn't know how he should react to such an honest statement, and now that Dean had left the house, he was unsure of what to do.

Following Dean was not an option. Not since he'd irritated the man unintentionally and caused him to become angry and distressed. To follow him would most likely cause more of a problem, and Castiel was merely grateful Dean hadn’t hit him for being so disagreeable, if that was, in fact, how Dean had perceived him.

Dean usually lashed out when he was that infuriated.

So Castiel lingered in the bedroom, coiled up beneath the sheets. Waiting. 

He didn't like being without Dean's presence, and he knew that reading the man's mind was out of the question. He hadn’t expected the man to shut him out like that, or how the man had known how to perform such a task, but it only emphasised Dean’s dislike for Castiel at that moment in time.

Dean had not been amused, to say the least.

Castiel closed his eyes as he slowed his breathing, listening out for the sound of the front door.

 

 


	4. Faith Is Less a Feeling and More a Mandate

 

 

Where there's an answer for everything  
Hiding behind child-proof plastic locks  
And under cotton swabs.  
There's a medicine for every ill.  
If the money's right the pain can be  
Drowned with a bitter pill.  
All the women are paper thin.  
Their necks barely hold up their heads.  
Boys have been trained  
And prepared since birth  
To serve their role  
And fight until their death.

_Forgive Durden_

 

Dean stretched, rocking his head from side to side to ease the uncomfortable ache in his neck.

And he’d thought _his_ settee was bad ...

He sat back down on the firm cushions, tugging his boots back on. He felt like shit and he longed for a steaming hot shower, but he needed to get back. He’d been putting it off for a few hours now.

Dean stood up, wiping the grime from his eyes as he dragged his feet over the wooden floorboards, muttering to himself as he made his way to the doorway.

This was one conversation he was not looking forward to.

 

*

 

Castiel sat at the kitchen table, glancing up at the analogue clock every minute or so as he waited for Dean to return. It was 10:27.

He'd been waiting in the same seat for almost two hours now, although Sam had joined him all but ten minutes ago.

“So what was all that about yesterday?” Sam asked around a mouthful of food. “I haven’t seen him that pissed off in a while ... he didn’t hit you or anything, did he?”

"No, he's ... he's just angry with me," Castiel mumbled, stirring is coffee half-heartedly. "I ... we have different opinions on the same matter."

Sam glanced over briefly before returning to his cereal. "Yeah, well if that’s all it was, he probably just overreacted. He hasn’t been himself lately anyway."

Castiel hoped that was the case, remembering just how angry the man had been. Castiel hadn't done anything wrong, yet Dean had been furious.

He worried for the man's safety, but he had a fairly good idea of where he would be. Dean had a peculiar way of calming himself – and that woman had seemed very much attracted to him when they'd met in the garage.

"So ... you and Dean been friends for a while then?"

Castiel smiled sadly, glancing around the kitchen. "I suppose so."

He was counting the bond as a form of friendship, although he had only spent time with the man for a full two days. It was their connection that made them so close, after all, even if it had kept them connected ever since Dean had been born.

"I think he likes you. I've not seen him look at anyone in the way he looks at you for a while," Sam beamed, attempting to meet Castiel's gaze.

"I should hope he still likes me when he gets back," Castiel met Sam's line of sight, frowning slightly. Their friendship would be somewhat strained now that Castiel had upset Dean so greatly.

"No, I mean he _like_ -likes you!"

"I don't quite understand what you mean, Sam," Castiel replied, placing the spoon on the table so he could sip at his drink. "What other kinds of 'like' are there?"

Sam looked incredibly confused, staring at Castiel like he had some sort of deformity. "You really don't– "

The abrupt slamming of the front door had Castiel glancing toward the kitchen entrance, and he rose from his seat. “I apologise for leaving you like this, Sam, but I’d prefer it if he took his anger out on me rather than you.”

Sam looked a little surprised, but he nodded, smiling. Castiel smiled back, stepping past the table to confront Dean. He was desperate to apologise, even if he considered his opinion to be right, because he'd upset the man greatly. If changing his viewpoint meant Dean would be happy, then he would do it.

He hadn’t expected Dean to be just around the corner, and he found himself slamming into the man’s chest. Dean grabbed hold of his wrists as Castiel stumbled, preventing him from falling backwards. He wasn't smiling, but he looked somewhat amused, pulling their chests together.

"Hey Sam," he directed toward the kitchen, before looking down at Castiel again, and Castiel could feel the heat crawl up the back of his neck when their eyes met, a warmth spreading through his chest.

"Dean, I'm sorry about yesterday – I was being ... foolish, like you said. I didn't realise that it would upset you so much by sharing my opinion, but I truly am sorry for angering you," Castiel whispered, dropping his gaze to Dean’s soul, watching it glow a little brighter, but the blue was still dominant. “S-sorry.”

“Come with me, Cas.”

Castiel let himself be tugged up the stairs, silent in fear of saying something Dean would see as distasteful. He was surprised when Dean closed the bedroom door behind them, but he didn't want to show his curiosity, complying with Dean's actions.

"Take off your shirt for a sec," Dean demanded, letting go and stepping back.

Castiel opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. Dean could quite easily become angered at any moment. "O-okay."

He pulled at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his torso before Dean began to assist him with it, gently pulling the fabric from Castiel's body and folding it over his arm. Castiel stood shivering in front of the man, clenching his jaw to halt his chattering teeth. Dean walked behind him, resting his palms against Castiel's shoulder blades.

Castiel jerked away from the touch, hissing as Dean's fingers grazed the broken skin.

"I thought you healed yourself," Dean muttered, ceasing the touch.

"I'm sorry," Castiel replied, ducking his head awkwardly. He had been too distracted, he supposed, not concentrating on himself, but more so the clothing that Dean had leant him, deeming them more important.

Had it really been that obvious though? Castiel himself hadn’t even realised the wounds were still there, so how Dean had assumed as such was rather odd.

Unless, of course, the man had thought it had happened again.

Dean made some sort of exasperated noise, coming back round to face him again. "Stop fucking apologising!"

Castiel bit his tongue, restraining his speech as Dean looked him over. He was used to such a harsh tone through his brethrens' form of speech, a constant verbal abuse that would linger in his thoughts for the rest of his life. Dean's words were not insulting, but the way they were spoken was relatively hurtful. He realised that Dean was still very much upset over yesterday’s conversation.

The man wandered out of the room, so Castiel sat down on the bed, thinking up as many possible solutions to such a problem as he could, mulling over the multiple scenarios and how they would pan out. Dean didn't want a verbal apology, and to write it down would be considered facetious. Castiel had never been one for good ideas, and this matter was incredibly difficult to resolve.

He grabbed hold of his blade, picking it up from the floor to collect its energy, although he had no intention of healing himself. Instead he transferred all of its power to Dean, letting it crowd the man's soul and revive all the good emotions that hadn't been kept at a recommended level. It wouldn't do much, but it would do enough to make the man feel a little bit more cheerful.

He didn't care if it was forbidden. Castiel didn't abide to Heaven's rules anymore. He could ...

He could do whatever he wanted.

"Cas, stop it."

Dean was closing the bedroom door again, holding the first aid kit in his hands. Castiel ignored him, focussing all of his Grace on the tiny orb, willing it to glow yellow, even if it would still be dim. There was a touch of pink amongst the pale blue, but that didn't grow in size either, and Castiel began to feel frustrated that his power was having no affect.

But he wouldn't give up.

"Cas, I told you to stop whatever you're doing to me!"

Castiel closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Dean’s disappointment. "No."

There was a sudden thump before Castiel felt the hands close around his wrists, and he opened his eyes to stare at Dean with annoyance, unwilling to stop the alteration of the man's soul. He met Dean's gaze directly as he forced as much energy as he could into his companion's body, watching Dean's eyes widen with disbelief.

And there it was: the faint glimmer of yellow radiating from Dean's chest, twining with the even smaller pink light. It was relatively pretty to observe, but he wasn't able to remain proud for very long.

Dean shoved him backwards against the mattress, and Castiel cried out in pain; the bed sheets pressed uncomfortably against the slits on his shoulders as Dean applied more pressure, sitting atop his stomach. The man took hold of Castiel's blade in an attempt to wrestle it from his grasp, but Castiel refused to let go, instead he pushed back until the weapon was angled against his companion's throat, and Dean froze, fear in his eyes.

Castiel had absolutely no intention of harming the man - and Dean should know that - but whilst Dean was held in such a risky position, he wouldn't struggle, and Castiel would be able to heal his soul without any further issues.

"Cas ... you're hurting yourself," Dean whispered, gulping against the metallic Grace. Castiel simply frowned, feeling the wetness above his upper lip. A nosebleed was nothing to be concerned about - not when Castiel had endured far worse circumstances.

He broke eye contact, finding it harder to look at the man directly, so he stared at the orb instead. "Do not concern yourself with my well being anymore."

Castiel hadn’t noticed the man's grip loosen on his wrists until it was gone altogether, hands settling on his shoulders timidly, thumbs running small circles over the skin. "Please, Cas. Just put it down for a minute ... I'll let you carry on whatever you're doing afterwards, but I want to talk to you - without the threat of having my throat cut open."

Castiel didn't know what to do. He had the upper hand here, finally able to change Dean's soul for the better, yet the man was pleading him not to and he was torn between giving the man artificial happiness, or what he actually wanted. He lowered his arm a little and Dean didn't waste any time grabbing the weapon from Castiel's hands and throwing it across the room. "Dean, I -"

"No!" Dean snarled, slamming a hand over Castiel's mouth. "I told you already: I want to talk to you. Until I ask you a question, you're not allowed to interrupt. Got it?"

Castiel nodded feebly, feeling his cheeks become considerably warmer. He'd never been in this sort of position before, in terms of having someone seat themselves atop him, and his mind flashed to those many times where he'd chosen to watch Dean at the wrong time. Obviously, he never observed the activity, but he knew that this was a relatively sexual position.

The hand slid from his face, forefinger brushing over his lower lip almost tenderly. "First of all, stop biting your lips. You've made this one bleed."

That remark wasn't entirely fair, seeing as Dean bit his own frequently enough, although Castiel had never seen him do until his teeth drew blood. He had a feeling that Dean was going to be very hypocritical, and since he'd promised not to talk until asked, all he could do was pout with irritation.

"Don't look at me like that! I'm trying to help!" Dean stressed, repeating the touch. "No one’s gonna want to kiss you if you keep worrying your lip."

That was something Castiel didn’t care for. He didn't want a sexual partner and the thought of having one made his stomach churn. It wasn't like anyone would want him anyway - those in Heaven most certainly did not, and here on earth he would be considered odd also - so he had no real intention of ceasing the habit.

"Now, I know that you've been trying to make me feel better, but it's not having a very healthy affect on your body and I ... can you please - for a couple of days, at least - just take things easy and ... and not use your blade thing? For me?"

He could do that. A couple, usually meaning two, wasn't terribly long at all, so he nodded.

And Dean actually smiled at him, the tiny orb in his chest fluctuating with intensity. "Thank you."

The man slid off of his chest carefully, sitting beside him on the mattress and retrieving the first aid kit from the floor. Castiel remained lying down, unsure of whether Dean actually required him to mimic the position or not. He felt incredibly tired from using up all of his energy to brighten Dean's soul, even if it had had the least profound effect he had ever seen. The threat of Heaven hunting him down for tampering with his - with _a_ \- human's soul was still a problem, and he couldn't help but fret over how things would pan out. They would take him away from Dean, and the man would have no recollection of them ever meeting each other.

He ran a hand over his eyes, sighing. He'd just made everything so much worse.

"Please can you sit up for me, Cas?" Dean asked quietly over the light rustle of the medical kit's contents. Castiel obeyed.

He realised that he should be making the most of his time with Dean, rather than being problematic and stubborn. It wouldn't be long until his brethren found him if they had, indeed, been observing him, and he knew that the punishment would be greater than that he had experienced prior. He needed to cherish all the time he had left.

Dean lifted Castiel's chin between his left thumb and forefinger, tilting it toward him. Castiel let his muscles go slack, not resisting the gesture even if it was to be harsh. He avoided eye contact, ashamed of what he'd done. Dean would not be happy to know that the gesture of enhancing emotion had been forbidden.

He closed his eyes when he felt the press of damp cotton beneath his nose, wiping away the trail of blood. Using his Grace to such extremities whilst having such a frail human body had not been wise, but he'd had no idea it would harm him in this way. Perhaps the confiscation of his blade for a short period was the more sensible option if using it was only going to have a rather negative effect on his form.

Dean stilled after a moment, pushing the hair back from Castiel's temple. "I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're thinking."

Castiel nodded in acceptance, drawing his lower lip between his teeth to distract himself. His eyes stung and there was that harsh prickling in his nose, coaxing him to cry.

"What did I just tell you, Cas?" Dean groaned, tapping Castiel's mouth gently. "Stop that."

Castiel let his eyelids snap open and he stared at the man before him. He pushed Dean’s hand away forcefully before he reached forward, sliding his arms over Dean's shoulders and burying his face in the man's neck. Dean grunted as he fell backwards, hitting the mattress and scattering bandages and the like over the bed sheets.

This is what people do when they like someone, Dean had said - and Sam had reassured him earlier that Dean did, in fact, like him - so Castiel clutched at Dean's shirt, balling the fabric in his palms as he held on as tight as he could.

The thought of Dean forgetting about him produced a strange ache in his chest and he wanted it to go away.

He didn't want to leave the man - not when he had upset Dean so much during their time together. He needed to make up for it.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," he mumbled, adjusting his position so that he wasn't crushing the man as he lay atop him. He could feel Dean's heartbeat through both his companion's chest and jugular, a fast and strong beat that had Castiel worrying about Dean's health. It shouldn't have been so erratic - not without the aid of physical exercise or some form of traumatic experience.

Was Castiel upsetting him?

"I take it emotions are still being a bitch," Dean chuckled, twining both arms around Castiel's waist in return. "And you don't need to apologise ... apart from maybe trying to kill me before, but hey! At least you looked cute doing it."

Castiel grimaced at Dean's choice of words. "I would never hurt you, Dean."

"But you don't deny the whole 'cute' part ..." Dean teased, squeezing Castiel's torso briefly.

"To call me ‘cute’ is incredibly degrading," he stated. It made him feel strange when Dean called him that, as moderately insulting as it was to hear. This wasn't the first time Dean had described him as such, but he was still unsure of the exact definition Dean was going by. "I'm not some nescient child."

Dean laughed, his chest rising and falling with short, sharp breaths. "Dude, that is totally not what I meant!"

Castiel raised his head so that he could look at Dean's face, watching the faint blush taint his cheeks. He was confused as to what Dean was trying to imply, and he was unable to understand what was so funny about what he had said. Castiel was a warrior. He wasn't fond of being told that he shared a similar characteristic to that of the human offspring. "What _do_ you mean then?"

Dean just grinned up at him, going that little bit darker in colour, but never once looking away. Castiel pouted and Dean only laughed harder. "Dean! Tell me!"

"I mean, as in like, appearance. You're attractive, you know?" Dean did break eye contact this time, looking down at Castiel's chest. "Now get off me so I can take care of those cuts on your back."

Castiel looked at him for a few more seconds before deciding to sit up fully, climbing off of Dean's abdomen and positioning himself to the right of his companion.

Did this mean that Dean liked how he looked? Castiel had never really received compliments on his appearance - more so a flurry of insults associated with the colour of his wings than anything else. He had merely assumed that no one deemed him attractive - not that looks should be considered the be-all and end-all aspect to relationships - but he was rather grateful that Dean had thought him so.

Was that why Dean had brought up the topic of kissing though? Did Dean want to kiss him?

It was ridiculous to think that Dean would ever be remotely interested in him in such a way. Although, the thought of a relationship with the man didn't provide the same sense of disdain as if he were to think of himself bonded to another angel in his Garrison – but that was all down to the fact that Dean had treated him kindly when the others had not, not because of the sexual aspect. He'd never heard of an angel and a human being bonded so intimately, but it wasn't a thought he was going to dwell on.

He'd witnessed the numerous angelic bonds taking place in the past, much like a form of marriage proposal as it would be seen on earth. This bond was different to the one formed between a guardian angel and their charge - it was said to be stronger and permanent, a link that even after death, would twine their Grace together on the Tree of Life, allowing them to spend eternity with each other. In comparison to relationships on earth, those in Heaven would definitely be seen as much colder, barely any intimacy until it came to reproduction, and even then, it was that one occasion alone. The pair would never consummate again, owing to both the strict rules applied to the breeding process, and the idea that sexual activity would be a consistent distraction, deeming the angels incapable of fulfilling their duty depending on the Garrison they were assigned to. Not only that, but the feeling of 'love' itself, did not exist - other than the most obvious attachment to God, which was inevitable.

God, although very few, if not any angels had met him, was considered their father overall - which was understandable, seeing as he was their creator: a father to each and every species to ever exist. No angelic offspring ever met with their relatives, so to speak, awoken in an empty room amongst others of the same status. They would be raised by an elder; this was an angel nearing the end of their time, one that had light enveloping their form in the early stages of death. Joshua had once said that the light soothed the fledglings, coaxing the transformation process in which their wings would finally break free.

Castiel didn't remember the actual process himself, but judging by the pain he'd experienced just yesterday, he was glad such a memory was not present in his mind.

The slits created on his back through such an event were incredibly tender, and he winced at the mere thought of Dean touching them again. He knew that Dean wouldn't intend to hurt him, unless he still held a grudge over the earlier events.

Castiel refused to let the uncertainty manipulate him like that. If Dean thought that Castiel deserved to be hurt for being so callous with his actions, then he would accept it - although he truly hoped that wasn't the case. He'd endured so much pain just to fall, he didn't want the only person he trusted to hurt him in return.

"Okay, Cas,” Dean murmured softly, resting a hand just above the wound on Castiel’s left shoulder blade. “This might sting a little, but it'll help in the long run."

Dean wasn't lying when he said it would sting; a slight burn irritating his wounds, but after a while it dulled, and Castiel couldn't feel much at all. He could feel the press of Dean's fingers: cold and gentle against Castiel's flesh as he cleaned the slits, smoothing down the strange cohesive material over his skin once he was finished.

Castiel tried to look over his shoulder to see what it was, but he couldn't see much of his lower shoulder blades, the tiniest strip of white visible toward the centre. There was another on the other side, and Castiel wondered why Dean had chosen to conceal the marks with the strange squares. "What are those, Dean?"

Dean flopped sideways onto the mattress, easing onto his back. "They're bandaides. They'll stop the cuts from getting infected so you can heal properly."

Castiel glanced down at Dean's hands and how they wound together over the man’s stomach. He placed his own hands above Dean's and Dean relinquished his hold beneath, separating his palms so that he could twist his fingers amongst Castiel's. Their hands became locked together and Castiel squeezed, unsure of what to do now that his gestures were restricted. He smiled when Dean squeezed back, but he drew them away so that he could mirror Dean’s position, surprised when his wounds didn't feel uncomfortable in the slightest when pressed to the mattress again. He knew he could have just used his blade to heal himself, but Dean had requested its absence for the next few days. It would be tolerable.

"I went to Bobby's," Dean announced suddenly, and Castiel tilted his head, angling himself so that he could hear everything fluently. "Last night, I mean."

Castiel was intrigued. Dean usually handled his anger through the means of sexual intercourse, so to find out that he had attempted a healthier way of dealing with his emotions was wonderful.

"What I said ... well, I want you to know I meant every word."

"About things not being my fault?" Castiel queried.

"You should know by now that I don't consider it your fault, but yeah. That and ... and everything else I mentioned," Dean mumbled.

Castiel thought back to their conversation, recalling how Dean's anger had been of the quiet sort - almost like he was holding back his emotion. Yes, Dean had spoken in a low volume, and had avoided eye contact, but his words were of absolute trust and friendship. They were the sort of words that he'd expected to find after roaming the depths of Dean's mind, rather than having them spoken aloud as a confession. Of course, they had been brutal, but Dean had not been attacking Castiel directly, merely hinting at the fact that Castiel taking the blame for everything was ridiculous. In a sense it was true, but Castiel had had such thoughts drilled into his mind by the likes of Raphael, and to suddenly attempt to oppose them was incredibly difficult. He was unsure of which answer was the right one to listen to.

He was beginning to sway in favour of Dean's opinion, and not just for the sake of pleasing the man in the short time they may or may not be able to spend together. Dean had been right in saying that Castiel was following orders; his punishment for defying them would be considerably more painful than any form of torture he'd received for the mere _thought_ of helping the man, but for once he wasn't frightened, because he'd been reassured that he'd done nothing wrong. His fellow angels were doing wrong by ignoring the suffering of humans like Dean, and if bringing up that topic again would provide him with another year or so of agony, then he would accept, knowing full well that he was being punished because of their selfish ignorance and not because what he'd done was wrong.

What saddened him more than anything was the knowledge that Dean thought himself ‘flawed’. The man was anything but; always working exceptionally hard to please those who showed him any kind of affection, constantly being selfless and considering the problems of others more important than his own, and just being a genuinely kind-hearted man in general.

The flaws Dean considered himself to possess were the troubles he’d faced. They weren’t aspects of his being, but more elements of his life he’d wished had never occurred – and he had shown Castiel each and every one of them yesterday through the thought transaction. Castiel hadn’t given the man the comfort he had needed at the time owing to his utter disbelief, but now he was willing to try.

"I don't think these 'flaws' you spoke of make your personality less appealing, Dean. It’s the way that you've dealt with them - how you've overcome them - that makes me want to spend more time with you. You are an inspiration that others should learn from," Castiel said quietly, feeling the heat crawl over his skin. "Including myself."

Castiel had a multitude of flaws, none of which he'd had the confidence to address or even attempt to change. Of course, that was one of them: being too cowardly and submissive. Being in Dean’s presence had given him a security that he’d been without until that point, and he found himself able to relax, able to look at everything differently. His thoughts were his own – not some ideal that he’d been forced to oblige by for years – and he felt independent and less insignificant.

“You think I’m inspirational?” Dean asked, somewhat pleased.

He nodded timorously, and Dean laughed, his breath brushing Castiel’s cheek when he turned his head. “Thanks dude! I mean, that’s really sweet of you to say. I don’t think anyone’s ever thought of me that way before, but yeah – thank you!”

Castiel nodded again to show he’d been listening, but he was unsure of what else he could mention. He knew that Dean was no longer angry with him, and for that he was relieved, but he knew that from now on he should be especially wary of what he was to say. He didn’t want to incense Dean again.

“Would it be weird if I told you that I thought you kinda inspirational?” Dean inquired. “And not just to repay the compliment or whatever – I really mean it. I mean, you gave up everything to be here, right? You gave up everything to do something that _you_ wanted to do, and I think that’s really fucking brave.”

“Th-thank you, Dean,” Castiel smiled softly, shivering a little. He hadn’t thought himself brave, but if Dean thought him so, he would accept the compliment.

Dean reached over him suddenly to grab at the nearby blanket, drawing it over them both, ensuring that Castiel had a suitable amount of heat before himself. “You’re welcome.”

Castiel searched for Dean's hand beneath the cover, and Dean laughed again when they fumbled against each other. The man toyed with Castiel's fingers as opposed to twining them together, bringing them out above the blanket so Castiel could watch. He liked the way Dean's hands felt as they trailed over his skin, delicate and careful movements that were somewhat peculiar. He observed the way Dean's fingers drew over his palms, the slow, lethargic motion that felt odd in a nice way. Castiel's hands were slightly smaller than his companion's, but they fit well in Dean's grip, his fingers sliding between Dean's own as they were linked together once more.

The man's thumb rubbed his wrist tenderly and Castiel grinned at the pleasant gesture, turning his head to show Dean just how pleased he was. Dean looked a little dazed, but he smiled back. “I’m sorry I had a go at you, but you need to trust me, man. I mean, it’s upsetting, y’know, to hear that you think you deserve to be hurt for what you’d done.”

Castiel smiled weakly in response, There was still so much Dean didn’t know about and he would ... he would understand why Castiel deserved such treatment.

But he would save his history for another day – when he and Dean were closer. Obviously, Castiel felt closer to Dean than Dean felt to him, so for the time being he would have to earn the man’s trust. He understood why his companion was so closed off, but he hoped there’d be a day where Dean would be completely comfortable with talking about anything Castiel chose to address.

"Fancy coming to college with me tomorrow?" Dean murmured, and Castiel looked at him properly, meeting his strong line of sight.

“Is that even permitted?”

Castiel had every intention to spend as much time as possible with Dean, so if he was able, he would go. Not only that, but he knew how much of a struggle classes were with that Walker boy, and Castiel wanted nothing more than for Dean to complete his course without such brash threats being aimed at him every day.

"Does it matter? If they say no then I'll just say I'm not feeling well or something," Dean assured him. "I don't want to leave you here all alone."

There was something about the way Dean was talking to him that made a sort of electricity dance over his skin, light and titillating yet glorious overall. But, of course, Dean was talking about skipping class and that wasn't what Castiel wanted, even if it meant spending more time with the man.

He sighed, smiling softy at the thought of spending every waking second in Dean's presence. "I don't mind waiting in the car for you, Dean. Although, if it is allowed, I will happily accompany you to your class and ... and to work later on, if that's something you wish."

Castiel had liked The Roadhouse – it was far more lively than it had appeared from Heaven, and Dean quite blatantly liked the simplicity of the job. Both Ellen and Jo had been kind to Castiel also, although...

"Dean, will you show me what a blowjob is now?"

Dean faced the ceiling, a slight pink colour to his cheeks. "I ... uhhh. No, buddy. Not really. It’s a ... it’s a sexual term, and you're my friend, so ..." Dean squeezed Castiel's hands somewhat apologetically, in spite of the fact that he had nothing to be sorry for. Castiel understood Dean's reasoning completely, as it would result in a very peculiar relationship should that be the case.

"Your friend thinks we are consummating?" He pressed, drawing the blanket up to his chin.

There was that feeling again: one that wasn’t quite disdain, but it wasn’t exactly agreeable either. He found it difficult to imagine such a relationship with the human, content with the bond they shared at this moment in time. Anything more would be very odd indeed.

"Yeah, well she thinks it's funny, even though it's not - but do we have to talk about it?" Dean mumbled. "It’s kinda awkward."

Castiel nodded, closing his eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. To talk about such a thing had made Dean ill at ease, and in all honesty, Castiel felt just as uncomfortable thinking about it. "Sorry."

He still wasn't sure what a 'blowjob' was, but to pry would be unfair, and Castiel didn't want to have memories of making Dean more upset than he already had.

Dean made some sort of humming noise, loosening his grip on Castiel's hand to stroke the skin with his fingertips once more.

If felt nice, no matter how simple the gesture was: Dean was merely tracing the creases on Castiel's palm above the blankets, and as much as Castiel wanted to link their hands together again – almost as if it represented their bond in a physical manner – he was content with the careful motion.

 

*

 

Dean threw himself down on the settee and shut his eyes, figuring he could get some rest in the living room. He’d gone up the store only half an hour ago, thinking it a perfect opportunity since Castiel had pretty much passed out on the mattress.

And now Dean, feeling his own exhaustion ebb at his mind, wanted to make up for the hours of thinking he’d done last night.

Obviously, it was stupid to have stormed out like that knowing full well that something bad could have happened to the angel, but everything had been fine, so he shouldn’t really be too concerned. He just wouldn’t do it anytime in the near future – especially since Cas could be due a headache, or worse, relatively soon.

It made him feel uneasy just thinking about it, but Cas would pull through. He was tough for a little nerdy dude with wings.

The mere thought of Castiel’s wings had Dean cringing in his seat, and he quickly pushed the images of them tearing past the thin flesh of the angel’s back aside, not wanting to think about that right now. If something like that was gonna cause the guy an immense amount of pain, then he would _never_ ask Cas to show him, no matter how desperately he wanted to see them.

He could compliment them without having to actually see them in person, right? And he could always ask to see them through Castiel’s mind thingy, so long as it didn’t involve having his own mind read again.

But man, did he want to know what they felt like. They had to be soft, because they had feathers and stuff – and feathers were generally soft and fluffy – so there was that. And then they’d probably be heavy because to lift someone of Cas’ size, although he wasn’t actually too bad weight-wise, had to require a fair amount of strength.

How the fuck did they even fit in Castiel’s back, though? Each wing was probably just as big as the guy himself, so to think that Cas had them compressed in his slight little body was pretty fucking metal.

Dean pushed in his earphones, keeping his eyes shut as he randomly pressed the buttons on his iPod until Sabbath came screaming through the tiny speakers and he smiled. Maybe having a weekend free from work wasn’t too bad after all – especially since Sam was occupied with homework or whatever, and Cas was dead to the world.

He threw his arm holding his iPod over his eyes to block out the daylight and he raised his left knee, the underside of his foot resting against the cushions as he lay in his own little bubble. He contemplated whether he’d even bother going to class tomorrow, seeing as it would involve leaving Castiel all alone for two hours or so, depending on whether the class overran or anything. If something bad happened while he was going over some technical aspect he’d already learnt about at the garage, then there wasn’t much point – but that’s what most of his classes were actually like these days anyway.

Of course, having Cas there would make it a little more interesting. If he didn’t have some sort of spasm on the floor from a headache or anything, that is.

And then there was the chance that they’d end up running into Gordon, and that would cause a pretty big fucking mess. It was like ‘barging’ into Gordon was inevitable – no matter how much Dean tried to avoid the guy’s broad fucking body, it always came hurtling toward him; slamming him into the wall or just knocking him over altogether, and in the end it always came down to being considered Dean’s fault.

But having Castiel with him posed a whole new range of threats, and he didn’t want anyone both verbally or physically abusing the angel knowing just how much shit he went through just to get here in the first place. He’d put up with enough of that back in Heaven for having darker coloured wings, so he didn’t need to take any shit from Gordon fucking Walker.

He jerked suddenly as he felt the cool fingers touch the forearm resting over his forehead and he dropped it from his face, yanking out his headphones as he opened his eyes. He could hear the quietened blast of music still being emitted from them as they hung in his hands, but he grinned up at Castiel who stood before him, fumbling with the front of his iPod again to silence it abruptly. “Hey, man. You have a good nap?”

“It was ... pleasant enough, I suppose,” Castiel murmured, glancing down at Dean’s chest momentarily. “I-I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Dean just shook his head, ridding his mind of weariness when he noticed that Castiel remained shirtless, his pale skin smooth and glowing in the sunlight filtering through the window. “No. I was just thinking about stuff. I wasn’t asleep.”

"May I ... may I sit with you, Dean?" Castiel mumbled softly, looking down at his feet as he stood beside the sofa. Dean lay sprawled out, but he smiled, willing to make space for his companion. Castiel had appeared a little dazed for the past few hours, and Dean wanted to make sure everything was alright with the guy. Obviously, Cas' wounds could have contributed to that factor - or it could be the headaches and stuff. Dean didn't really know. He wasn't a doctor.

"Yeah. Of course, buddy," Dean replied, twisting his torso to swing his legs out to face the coffee table so that he could sit up properly. His vision spun a little from such an abrupt movement, but he shook it off, shuffling along so that there was more than enough room for the angel to get comfortable.

He’d expected Castiel to merely sit beside him, but instead the angel lay down across the remaining cushions. Dean smirked, feeling Castiel's head rest against his thigh, and he dropped a hand to the top of Castiel’s cranium, carding his fingers through the messy hair style. He took note of Castiel’s bare chest again, although he refused to let that distract him, as much as he wanted to follow that tiny treasure trail of dark hairs leading down from Cas’ navel ...

Castiel just smiled up at him, pulling the hand from his hair and cradling it gently. He hummed when Castiel's fingers drew over his palm, much like how Dean had done earlier, just this was ... well it was different - like Castiel was putting more effort and care into his actions than Dean had, and it made him feel kinda warm. Castiel's hands moved slowly, sliding over Dean's palm to measure the difference in size before running his forefinger over the tiny blue veins on his wrist. Dean shivered, and Castiel laughed, repeating it again and trailing that same finger down his forearm, running it along the vein that rose above the skin toward his elbow. It felt really odd in a nice way - vaguely sensual with the way Castiel handled him, and how the angel continued to repeat such movements had Dean's stomach writhing with heat. He didn't want to spring a boner with Castiel pressed so close, not when his head was _right fucking there._

Dean tried to pull his hand away, but Castiel latched on tight, shooting Dean some kind of warning look as he continued the motion. Dean couldn't help laughing, shuffling along slightly so if certain issues arose, Castiel wouldn't feel it.

Castiel just had to shift along with him, didn’t he? Dean should’ve known better, to be honest, because, well, moving had probably put the guy’s neck at a weird angle or whatever.

He didn’t even know why that mattered. The point was, Castiel wasn’t gonna move anytime soon. Not when he’d found the position comfortable.

"Cas, you might have to stop that in a minute," Dean murmured. "Its uhhh ... I don't know how to explain it without making things really fucking awkward."

"Have I done something wrong, Dean?" Castiel queried, dropping his hand abruptly and sitting up to face him properly. Dean took this opportunity to grab one of the small square pillows and drop it onto his lap, just in case the situation got any worse.

"N-no! I mean, it’s just a little intimate, and it’s, well ..."

Castiel pressed a palm to Dean's chest  timidly, eyes flitting up to meet his stare. "I'm upsetting you."

If by upset, he meant arouse, then yeah. Cas was _really_ fucking upsetting him right now.

"No, man! You're not! What you're doing is ..." he tried to think of some kind of word that didn't make him come across as a horny teenager, whilst refraining from offending Castiel in any way, shape or form. He could feel the heat on his cheeks and his cock straining in his jeans. He shifted uncomfortably. " _Exciting_ me?"

"Ah," Castiel said softly, blushing as he tapped Dean's solar plexus. "That ... that's why your heart rate was so alarming this morning, I assume."

"What? Are you checking up on me all the time or something?"

"N-no ... you had a similar reaction earlier," Castiel murmured, biting his lower lip and glancing away. "I thought I was making you uncomfortable ... not ... I'm sorry."

Dean pushed Castiel's shoulder lightly. "What have I told you about biting your lip, dude? Stop it!"

Castiel looked at him again, going darker in colour. Dean drew his hand back when he saw the expression on Castiel’s face: so many emotions flickering over his features as the angel opened his mouth to speak. It took a while for the words to actually escape his lips, but the mere sight of Castiel’s mouth moving without making a sound had Dean shuffling backwards with a nervous heat. "Is it ... because _you_ want to kiss me, Dean?"

He bit the inside of his cheeks to conceal his smile, figuring he could palm off his own embarrassment onto Castiel. “Why? You want me to?”

Castiel's expression remained stoic, but there was that dark pink that continued to ease its way across the guy’s flesh. "No."

Dean grinned in spite of the thick heat that made it so very hard to breathe. “You sure?" He teased, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "I'm pretty good."

Cas' eyes widened and he glanced away sheepishly, ducking his head so that the veil of dark strands concealed his features from view. "No ... I ..." There was a long pause, and Dean just waited patiently, confused. "I'm sure."

Dean laughed, watching Cas fidget a little with discomfort. Maybe it was kind of mean to make Castiel feel so awkward right now, especially when he was so Goddamn innocent. “I was joking anyway, dude. I mean you're cute and all but we're friends - and that'd be weird, right?"

Castiel nodded slowly, keeping his head hung low.

But man, if Cas ever did want to kiss him, Dean would be all for it.

He hadn't felt this way about someone for a _very_ long time, but the fact that it was a friggin' angel that he was falling for - as ironic as that was - kind of put a damper on things. He couldn't flirt without the guy taking everything too literally, and even then Cas didn't really understand; and in terms of physical contact, Castiel liked it, but he had no fucking clue that Dean had been doing it for his own perverted amusement!

"And besides, I know you wouldn't want to anyway - not when you could get with some hot girl," he teased, in spite of the crippling ache it produced in his chest to even say something along those lines.

Castiel's head lifted a little and Dean watched his eyes travelled to where his hand rested against Dean's chest. "First of all, I do not wish to court anyone – judging by your opinion of me, I merely assume everyone would see me for just appearances, and that is not what I want. And secondly, this topic of conversation has made you upset. Why would you address something like this if it would not benefit your happine-“

"Whoa, wait a second! What makes you think I only see you for what you look like?" Dean blurted.

Castiel shrugged. "You called me cute, and everyone else I've ever met only ever paid attention to my appearance. Humans and angels do share certain similarities, Dean. I'm not an idiot, regardless of whether you think me one or not."

"So you think I'm only friends with you because you're attractive? I'm not that fucking shallow!" He took Castiel's chin between his thumb and forefinger so the angel would meet his stare. "I mean, there’s nothing wrong with liking how someone looks, and I know that you were tormented for the way you looked in Heaven but in terms of personality and stuff, you just need to let people get to know you.” He paused for a moment. “And to do that you need to talk about yourself. In terms of likes and dislikes, you haven’t really given me much to go by, other than you saying you like my smile and stuff, but that’s about –“

Castiel pressed a finger to Dean’s lips, and Dean froze.

“I understand the point you are trying to make, but I don’t think its wise for me to talk about myself so early on in our friendship, Dean. There are things that ... that I am not entirely comfortable with sharing, and until you trust me more than you do, I think it for the best if we avoid that topic.” The angel dropped his hand, closing his eyes as he leant forward to press their foreheads together. “Sorry.”

“No. Its fine,” Dean murmured, watching Castiel’s eyelashes flutter against his flushed cheeks. It wasn’t really, what with the guy knowing everything there was to know about him. He wondered if it was because Cas had like, killed a bunch of people or something. That would require a lot of trust if Cas was going to admit to something like that, so maybe it was something along those lines.

Well, it had to be something pretty fucking big if Cas wasn’t willing to tell Dean right now, so maybe it really was something as serious as that.

Castiel sighed heavily. “I’m glad you’re alright with the matter. Your happiness is main priority, after all.”

“I don’t really understand what you mean by that, dude,” Dean admitted, dragging his thumb over Castiel's stubble. The angel was in dire need of a shave, but it didn't feel too bad. From the few male partners he'd been with, he'd always liked how the coarse hairs felt beneath his lips, his fingers - the way it scratched over his skin - and Castiel's felt just as good.

He knew he shouldn’t have been letting something so slight distract him from whatever it was Cas had been talking about, and he actually felt kind of bad for being so ignorant. He dropped his hand from Castiel’s jaw abruptly when the angel started talking again, willing to pay attention.

“Well, I’ve told you already. I’m here to make you happier, even if you’ve forbidden me from using my Grace for the next few days,” Cas pouted, and Dean bit back a smirk. “I shouldn’t let my own issues distract from my initial objective.”

“So is that what you were doing before?” Dean hummed, recalling the incredible warmth that seeped through his chest, making him feel somewhat lighter and stronger. “It felt nice.”

Castiel smiled at this, drawing back to resume his initial position on the settee, curling up against Dean’s thigh again. Dean wondered if the guy was cold, because it wasn’t exactly the warmest weather to be lounging around the house shirtless.

“It’s meant to feel nice. I wouldn’t ever inflict pain upon you, Dean.”

Dean tapped the tip of the angel’s nose lightly. “But it hurt you. I don’t want you doing that sort of stuff if it could lead to you having another headache or something.”

Castiel had brushed it off like it was nothing at the time, and that had kind of pissed Dean off. He didn’t want to be responsible for Castiel’s illness or whatever it was that was wrong. Dean wasn’t entirely sure what they should call it, because it _was_ just a headache, but in a way it was more than that. Castiel had been in so much pain that it had caused him to fucking pass out. That definitely couldn’t be good.

The angel made some sort of ‘hmph’ noise, almost like Dean had annoyed him. “I told you before, Dean: I don’t want you concerning yourself with my health.”

“I can do what I want, thank you very much.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Why is one of the rules ‘no complaining’?”

Dean looked down at him, confused. “Rules for what?”

“You said that while I stayed with you in this home, I was not permitted to complain. Why is that a rule if it does not seem to apply to you?”

Dean reached down to the floor to grab one of the crippled blankets, throwing it over Castiel’s shivering body.

“Was that you making a subtle complaint there, Castiel, or am I just imagining it?” Dean teased, carding his fingers through Castiel’s hair again, sweeping it away from the angel’s forehead. The guy’s eyes had closed again as he twisted beneath the thin cover, those long fingers peering from beneath the fabric as he clutched at the hem.

He didn’t know how long he watched Castiel’s steady breathing beneath the blanket, the consistent rise and fall, slowing over time until Dean was certain Cas had fallen asleep again. It gave him time to think though, and as much as Dean wanted to sleep himself, that could wait for later. Getting his priorities straight was more important.

Cas was probably going to stick around for a while, so they’d need to get some sort of rota going in terms of beds, excluding Sam from the whole deal because the kid needed more sleep than anyone else at this moment in time, and besides: Castiel was Dean’s responsibility in terms of them being friends and stuff now.

They could definitely rotate beds – he knew Castiel wouldn’t object to sleeping on the sofa every so often, what with him insisting upon Dean’s comfort before his own, the idiot – so the whole sharing a house thing wouldn’t be too bad. Obviously, it wasn’t a great way of living, but they could always fix up the attic. It wasn’t uninhabitable, just a little dusty at the moment, filled with a shit-ton of junk that could easily just be thrown in the trash.

And getting some sort of bed up there wouldn’t be too hard, because there was something of a staircase leading up to the upper floor – nothing like those crappy ladders that leant against a hatch or whatever. Well, their attic didn’t have a hatch; it had a door, because in reality, it was just another room.

John hadn’t wanted to fit it out as a bedroom, insisting that it would cost way too much. To think that Dean could have had his own room, even if it was less than half the size of the one he shared with Sammy, but because of the whole not wanting to piss their dad off – _ever_ – they’d had to put up with everything. The cramped space, the lousy meals, and then there was John’s violent drunken state.

Dean clenched his jaw at the fuzzy memories, distracting himself by looking back to Castiel again.

Cas knew. He knew everything.

It didn’t feel right; like, Dean had always kept ‘family matters’ a secret, not wanting to have Sam taken away or anything, so to actually have someone he could talk to about everything, and anything at all, gave him a sense of comfort.

He wasn’t going to rely on Cas to be a therapist or anything, because that wouldn’t be entirely fair. So what if the guy wanted to help? He didn’t need to tackle every single problem Dean had.

Dean actually thought it unfair for angels to be forced into keeping humans happy. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been over all those years, watching whenever they could to make sure whoever they were looking after didn’t do anything stupid.

He felt bad for Castiel especially, because Dean had most definiely not made things easy, but he was grateful that even after everything, Castiel still wanted to be his friend. If any of his other friends – excluding Jo, because she had honestly been one of the most supportive people he knew, second to Sammy – had known just how utterly shit his past was, they’d probably call him worse than he got now.

The thought of Gordon finding out set him on edge, because being constantly being called homophobic nicknames wasn’t exactly fun, and he didn’t want to add ‘cutter’ and the like to that list of insults.

He knew Cas would never tell anyone, mainly because Castiel had no one else to tell. He knew he should give the guy a little more credit than that ... but maybe Cas had been right in saying that Dean didn’t trust him enough yet. Hell, here he was worrying that the angel would go around telling everyone of Dean’s shitty life like it was another Rhonda Hurley rumour.

To think that he’d only asked Cas to trust him yesterday, yet he couldn’t even bring himself to trust the guy back.

Dean knew he shouldn’t pry about Castiel’s history, because he imagined there’d be some real dark shit. Especially if the guy had been bullied and stuff. Not only that, but the way Cas acted was like he’d been deprived of any kind of affection whatsoever, and that really made Dean’s heart clench. Sure, he’d thought about it before, but it was just the way he always kept so close, always within reach.

He’d never really had anyone keep so close to him without them having ulterior motives, so for once he actually felt kind of tranquil. He knew that Castiel wouldn’t ever try anything of that sort.

He continued to toy with Castiel’s hair, coiling the strands around his finger to curl it slightly. There was so much he wanted to know about the angel – things like how old he was, because angels had to age too, right? Or were they immortal?

It was weird to think about, knowing that not only that Cas was older than him, but also that he could be millions of years old or something. Castiel just looked so young, so to think him as old as the world itself was really bizarre. Dean figured he’d ask when the guy woke up again, curious as to whether Cas would actually age now that he was on earth too.

The angel shifted a little in his sleep, blunt nails scratching at the denim covering Dean’s thigh, and Dean smiled, tugging at the hem of the blanket to conceal Castiel’s shoulder properly.

“I take it you guys made up.”

Dean glanced up to see Sam standing in the doorway, smiling slightly, and Dean pulled his hand away from where it rested on the angel’s arm, setting it back on his lap. “Y-yeah.”

Sammy walked over, sitting down cross-legged on the carpeted floor in front of him. “He seems nice.”

Dean nodded, looking back down at the angel. He didn’t know why it was so satisfying to watch the angel sleep, but it made him feel more relaxed in a way. “He is.”

He knew exactly where this conversation was headed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. If the questions got too personal, he’d just ignore them.

“He was really upset before, Dean. I think he thought you hated him for saying what he did,” Sam murmured, and Dean cringed. Hating the guy was virtually impossible. Sure, Dean had been pissed, but as soon as he’d actually arrived at Bobby’s he realised just how much he’d overreacted.

Dean had to wonder just how much blame Castiel had taken on in the past for things he hadn't even done, how the others had manipulated him into believing that everything was his fault.

It made Dean so fucking angry to know that all the blame would have been thrust upon him _purely_ because his wings were different. Because Cas was different.

If there was one thing that set him apart from the others, then it would be that he had a heart. One that was so big, and so full of fucking kindness and generosity, that it pretty much made him human without a bunch of friggin' emotions thrown at him like a brutal clusterfuck.

Dean rubbed a hand over his jaw. “It wasn’t even his fault, Sammy. He keeps blaming himself for so much shit when he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Of course I told him that!” Dean stressed. “ _That’s_ why I got so pissed off yesterday. He didn’t want to forgive himself, and I still don’t think he has.”

Sam made some sort of humming noise. “So did you find out if he has a girlfriend?”

Dean smirked, glancing down at the younger boy. “Yes. And he doesn’t – he gets all touchy when I bring up the topic though.”

He kind of understood why Cas didn’t want to get a girlfriend or anything. After all, Dean had gotten dates with people purely because they knew he was captain of the football team. He’d pretty much taken it for granted though, which was the opposite of what Cas actually wanted. The angel just wanted someone to like him for who he was, in spite of his absolutely stunning looks. Even with the scruff he had going on at the moment, he still looked attractive, and it made him look a little older too. Dean would probably have to teach him how to shave relatively soon ... unless the angel was planning on growing a beard or something.

“You gonna ask him out?” Sam queried, lowering his voice when Castiel shifted in his sleep again.

“I’m not having this conversation, Sam. Cas and I are just friends,” Dean huffed, meeting the kid’s stare. He hated having talks like this. Just because he liked Castiel, didn’t mean he was going to admit it – especially when Cas could wake up any fucking minute.

In reality, this was just another crush he could get over in a few weeks time. That was how it was going to end, with him and Cas becoming the best of friends or something.

He could imagine that. Castiel was awesome, and once he got the hang of everything human, he’d probably be even more fun to be around. The angel was just a little serious at the moment, taking everything too literally. He needed to loosen up a little.

“ _Are you_ _kidding me?_ ” Sam hissed. “Have you seen the way you guys are sitting together _right now?”_

Technically, Cas wasn’t sitting, but Dean wasn’t going to point that out because Sam would probably rip into him with some snarky comment followed by his infamous bitchface.

“Cas was tired,” Dean shrugged, ignoring the prickling heat that crawled up his spine. “He can go to sleep if he wants to.”

“That’s a load of crap, Dean. Even me and Jess don’t sit like that!”

Dean stilled for a moment, watching a look of panic cross Sam’s features, along with that wonderful pink blush.

“Thought you and Jess were ‘ _just_ _friends’_ ,” Dean grinned.

“D-don’t try to turn this around, Dean!” Sam blurted. “At least _I_ had the courage to ask out who I liked.”

“You kissed her yet?”

“We’re meant to be talking about you right now!”

As much as Dean loved Sam, the kid was starting to make him feel really fucking uncomfortable. He didn’t like talking about this sort of thing with anyone, and yeah, maybe he had teased the boy a little, but that was more out of uneasiness than anything else. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about something so delicate, and being asked questions in relation to the topic was beginning to make him feel kinda lightheaded.

It was becoming somewhat difficult to breathe. He wanted to go outside for some air, but that would involve moving, and Cas was trying to sleep.

Okay. Fuck that.

Dean pulled away from the angel slowly, sliding the cushion from his lap beneath the guy’s head as he moved to stand. He stepped over Sam, walking briskly out of the room to reach the front door and pull on his shoes.

As soon as he got outside he started running, not caring if he wasn’t wearing the right clothes or whatever. He needed to relax, and he couldn’t do that while he was being shot at with pointless and nosy questions.

He felt bad for ditching Cas like that, more than ever if Sam was only going to ask the angel about his own feelings should the guy wake up anytime soon. Sammy wasn’t usually that persistent, dropping the subject as soon as Dean complained otherwise, so it was kind of infuriating for the kid to do differently this time around.

It shouldn’t matter how Dean felt about Cas. That was nobody’s business. Dean could like whoever he wanted and he could also, more importantly, act however he wanted around them.

He stopped outside the stadium, walking in to catch his breath. He knew he should have stretched or warmed up before taking off like that, but there was nothing he could do now. If his muscles ached tomorrow, then he’d just put up with it. Simple as.

He wandered over to the middle of the pitch, lying down on the grass to look up at the sky. He’d lost track of how much time he’d spent watching the angel sleep, so he wasn’t sure if it was before or after midday. It was warm, though, and in spite of the fact that Dean had left the house in something as thin as a Henley, he was glad he hadn’t worn any more layers.

He could hear his stomach growl, and he winced, remembering how he’d skipped breakfast earlier that morning. He hadn’t eaten anything since the night prior, and even then it was just a bag of chips he’d bought out of the vending machine at the gas station.

So, not only had he not eaten properly, but he’d also skipped out on two doses of his antidepressants.

Brilliant.

He’d just have to take a double dose later or something. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it but the doctor had definitely told him it was fine – so long as he hadn’t already taken one dose that day, obviously.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really taken his medication on Friday either. He really had to sort this out, otherwise they weren’t going to work properly. He didn’t want to have to take something stronger solely because he became immune, since he’d read up on side effects of more powerful stuff before and there was _no way_ he was risking being able to drive. He wouldn’t be able to function properly without his baby.

The dizziness was bad enough as it was at the moment, but being told he couldn’t drive because of something he needed to practically keep him sane? That was not happening.

Maybe Cas could help with that ... he had healing powers and stuff after all.

Dean didn’t really want to ask. He didn’t want the angel’s brain to melt or something from the strain or whatever it was that had caused him to have a nosebleed before.

It would be selfish of him to ask if it was only going to risk Castiel’s health.

 

*

 

He didn’t stay very long in the stadium, making his way home after about half an hour.

The temperature had dropped a little, and he found himself shivering as he walked back, eager to just roll up in his comforter and go to sleep. Or to talk to Cas a little, if the guy had woken up yet.

But first he needed to eat, because Jesus fucking Christ his stomach would not shut up!

Castiel was waiting out on the porch when Dean got there, and he was met with a sympathetic attempt at a smile, followed by some apology about how he should have been awake to be there for him and all that crap.

Dean just laughed, taking note of how instead of putting on a shirt, Cas had merely sat outside wrapped in the blanket. It was stupid, but it was cute.

So very cute.

He pushed the angel toward the front door. “You had lunch yet, dude?”

Castiel shook his head, stepping inside the house. “I’m not going to eat your food without your permission, Dean. That would be rude.”

“Hey. You live here now, so it’s basically yours anyway,” Dean shrugged, heading over to the staircase. “Is Sam upstairs?”

“I think so,” Castiel murmured, stepping into the living room briefly. “He’s not in here.”

Dean jogged up the staircase, turning to the right as he headed down the hallway. He knocked on the kid’s door before walking in. Sam was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a bunch of worksheets and his laptop lain out in front of him. It was a cheap model, but Dean had one of their neighbours, Charlie, fix it up for the kid as a Christmas present a while back. It ran faster than it had done previously, so it wasn’t actually too bad anymore.

“You eaten yet?” Dean asked softly, leaning back against the doorframe.

Sam glanced up, setting down his pen. “Look Dean, about before –“

“Nah man, I overreacted. Now, do you want me to make you lunch?”

The boy smiled. “Yes please.”

Dean smiled back, heading back down the hallway to find the angel. He wasn’t really over the whole conversation, but he knew that it was pointless to get into another fight with Sam. The kid was good at heart and it wasn’t even Sam’s fault in the first place. Dean blamed his lack of medication.

Just this once.

Castiel stepped onto the landing, smiling in his direction before making his way into Dean’s bedroom. Dean followed, curious as to why the guy had decided to come upstairs in the first place. Yes, it was nosy, but it was Dean’s room anyway, so ...

He watched Cas wander over to the chest of drawers to grab a shirt, slipping it over his head as he dropped the blanket. The clothing was totally too big for him, falling off his left shoulder slightly and crowding where it met the waistband of his sweats, and Dean bit back a smirk, amused at how his clothing hung off Castiel's smaller frame.

Cas continued to move about the room, picking up the discarded clothing littered about the floor, folding every item regardless of whether it was to be washed or not and making a neat pile by the doorway.

“Are jeans warmer than these things?” Cas murmured, pinching the soft material of his sweatpants. Dean grinned, glancing down at the dark material.

“Yeah. I think they are.”

Castiel nodded, stepping out of the loose-fitting pants as he walked back over to the dresser. Dean watched on, enjoying the view. Sure, he'd seen Cas in underwear and a shirt before, but it hadn't been _his_ boxers that Castiel had been wearing. And those ... well, they were pretty fucking loose on Cas' hips. But just because they were loose, didn't mean Dean couldn't see the swell of Castiel's ass, smooth and toned, through the thin cotton. It was somewhat mesmerizing to watch: seeing the muscles tense when Castiel bent down to grab a pair of jeans from the lowest drawer, fabric outlining the cleft as it was stretched taut.

It only got better when Castiel began to pull them on, hips rocking side to side as he wriggled into the denim, seemingly finding a pair that weren't too loose - in fact, they were almost a perfect fit - accentuating his long, slim thighs as the rough material clung to his frame.

"Where should I put these for now?" Castiel was folding the dark sweats neatly in his hands, draping them over his forearm and looking at Dean for an answer.

“Oh, uhhh ..." He drew his lower lip between his teeth as he thought about it. Castiel could put them anywhere really. It wasn't like Dean cared about how tidy his room was anyway – Cas could leave clothing strewn about the floor if he so pleased. "You could always leave them on the bed. I mean, you can change into them again later if they're more comfortable or whatever."

Castiel took a step closer, taking Dean’s face between his soft palms as he stared up through his lashes, a slight smile playing on his lips. "You should stop biting your lips, Dean. No one’s going to want to kiss you otherwise."

Dean laughed, pulling the angel’s palms from his jaw. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”


	5. This Empty Bag of Promises

 

Well it took me twenty years  
Just to find myself a pen  
For to write down all the words  
Just to scratch them out again  
I could use another twenty years  
To fix the last fifteen  
But it never seems to work to my advantage

_John Fullbright_

Castiel sat at the kitchen table, watching Dean bustle around the room as he made breakfast, curious as to why he was getting so flustered over a task he had been perfectly capable of fulfilling for years now. Castiel sipped at his coffee, smiling when Dean winked at him from over his shoulder. The man was being playful, and Castiel appreciated the attention regardless of its suggestive nature. He knew Dean did not feel for him romantically, so he had nothing to worry about.

Breakfast was nice - just being able to sit and talk to Dean was nice - and Castiel sincerely hoped that he wouldn't have to wait in the car for two hours without Dean's company again. He knew that it was selfish to hope for something of the sort, especially when Dean needed to focus in his classes in order to pass. Castiel would try not to distract him. He imagined he could just sit and watch for the duration, interested to see how Dean worked at a much closer range.

Dean had informed him that he had fewer classes this week, and the weeks that followed for that matter, owing to the fact they had covered the majority of the syllabus. Castiel was ever so grateful for the change in timetable, concerned as to just how many minutes it would be before Raphael sought after him.

He shouldn't have been dwelling on such dark thoughts - he'd addressed the topic in his mind too many times already, and he needed to relax.

If not for his own sake, then for Dean's.

"Hey, Cas?"

Castiel looked at the man now seated beside him. "Yes, Dean?"

"Do you wanna go out later? I mean, my class finishes at half eleven, but we could go out and do something afterwards if you want?"

"If that's something you would like, then I will happily join you," Castiel smiled, standing up to collect their plates. "Although if it will put a strain on your budget for the upcoming month, then I will have to decline."

Dean latched onto his wrist, halting his movement. "Dude, stop that. Go brush your teeth or something and I'll clean up here."

"But Dean, I -"

"No, Cas," Dean interrupted, letting his grip loosen. "Go and get ready."

Castiel scowled, breaking free of Dean's hold to storm out of the room. It was almost like Dean thought him incapable of such a task.

It was annoying really, how Dean refused to let Castiel help out – he was only trying to make things easier for the man, yet Dean wouldn't let him. What made it worse was that Dean was most likely offering to spend money on him – more money on him, if the extra groceries purchased to provide for three people were also taken into account.

It wasn't fair. Dean shouldn't feel the need to do that. Castiel was more than willing to go out and work for his own wages, to add them to Dean's savings and to Sam's college fund - and then Dean would be even happier, wouldn't he? Happier once such an issue wasn't a problem anymore, and he could cut down on his working hours and adjust to a much more appropriate sleeping pattern?

Castiel made his way to the bathroom, turning on the light above the mirror as he stood in front of the sink. He looked at his features, running a hand over his jaw.

Yesterday, Dean had shown him how to shave. It hadn't taken too long and his skin had felt smooth afterwards, resembling what his form had looked like whilst he remained in heaven, but now it was slightly scratchy, the tiny hairs growing back quicker than Castiel had hoped they would. He didn't mind how it felt, but he could quite happily do without its presence.

Dean told him that if he wanted his face to retain the same smooth quality, he would have to shave each and every morning - and that was something that Castiel, quite frankly, could not be bothered to abide by. He decided he'd shave every two to three days, so not to have an excessive amount of facial hair by that point.

His breath begun to steam up the image before him, so he pulled back, stepping to the left to view himself in the untouched half of the mirror. He recalled how Dean had told him he was attractive, and that sent a bout of heat rolling in his stomach. Castiel himself could not see what Dean would find so appealing about his features. In comparison to his fellow angels, he looked plain and unkempt - his hair was a tangle that looked messy and unsightly, and his bone structure made him look slight and weak - and obviously his body retained that same feeble appearance.

He lifted his shirt tentatively to look at his chest, taking in how flat his stomach was and how his muscle showed barely any signs of toning. He poked his flesh, noting its peculiar firmness in spite of such an apparent manifestation. It didn't look as muscular as Dean's, and he imagined the man's skin would be incredibly tense around his abdomen owing to the impressive build up of muscle in that area.

Castiel didn't know why he was being so vain. It wasn't like he was going to do anything to change the way his body looked. He'd never been one for following training regimes.

Even in preparation for war, he'd not tried to keep his form in fit shape, hoping that his weakness would cause him to fall in battle. He'd had nothing to live for, and his brethren only complained about his successful return from the war, telling him how he should have lost his life over that of Rachel, for example.

Rachel had not deserved to die - none of the angels had - but she had been foolish, trusting a demon with her weaponry because she had formed some sort of bond with him. Castiel did not see the problem with her choosing a mate who could have genuinely been worth all the trouble, no matter what species they were, but this demon had been compromised: his feelings manipulated throughout the last moments of his life to speak false words of hatred, and his actions not his own. Castiel had seen him crying over the ashen wing prints after her slayal, clawing at his skull only moments before ending his own life.

Not all demons were of bad intent, and as Castiel had witnessed, some were even capable of love.

It was instances like those that had Castiel questioning why everything he believed in was considered wrong. Rachel had loved - in spite of initially being without emotion - that tortured soul, and the other angels had never bad mouthed her or her bond-mate whilst she had lived, treating her the same as any other. Yet Castiel's want to spend time with Dean had been forbidden. He had not been in love, but they decided to punish him anyway. Of course, the occurrence with Rachel and her partner had occurred some many years before Castiel's bond with Dean, but that wasn't to say it was forgotten. Gabriel had made the comparison in Castiel's favour before the trial, but Raphael had insisted that Castiel's feelings for Dean were stronger than that of Rachel's regardless, claiming that such an attachment was more of a distraction than anything else.

He dreaded to think of what Raphael should say now that Castiel had formed a friendship with the man, how the archangel would devise an even crueller punishment. The thought of Raphael murdering Dean for Castiel's selfish actions was a painful one, but he quickly pushed it from his mind, reaching forward to grab the toothbrush Dean had given him from the holder. Gabriel would make sure Dean was safe should Castiel be taken away for further torture, even if the man's memories were relinquished. Dean still had a chance at happiness, and that was all that mattered.

He let his shirt fall back into place as he applied toothpaste to the bristles of the instrument.

Toothpaste wasn’t particularly appetising, not that it should be ingested by the human body anyway. Castiel had found it repulsive at first; the way the mint flavour burnt his tongue if he let it rest against the white concoction, and how it made his mouth feel dry and harsh if he forgot to add water beforehand. But it did make him feel more refreshed afterwards. And clean.

He swilled water about his mouth to rid it of the hot taste, relishing how cool the water was against his painful taste buds. It rotated around the plug on its way out of his mouth, sliding into the pipes with a graceful motion.

He crashed into Dean on his way out of the bathroom, and he gripped the man's biceps to hold him steady. "Jesus, Cas!"

Castiel ignored the use of Christ's name, raking his eyes over Dean's features to make sure he was fine before letting go, feeling entirely responsible should any harm have come to the man. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, skirting around his companion quickly to avoid any further mishaps as he made his way to Dean's bedroom, dragging a hand through his hair. He knew he should have at least attempted to make it look neater whilst he remained in the bathroom, but he couldn't really go back again. Dean would only consider it strange and besides, Castiel had walked around with his hair in the same style for as long as he could remember - and Dean hadn't told him that it looked odd or anything of the sort, so it could remain that way for another day.

Castiel flopped backwards onto the bed, laying down and resting his arm over his eyes. He figured he could try and contact Gabriel later on - once he and Dean returned from wherever the man planned on taking them after his class. He needed to know why he was having headaches, and if they should return any time soon. Gabriel should have some sort of answer to this problem, and Castiel was determined to cure himself of it. Not only that, but he needed to know if anyone had actually witnessed him curing Dean's soul, or if they had disregarded it completely. There wouldn't be a way out of his punishment if Raphael knew, even if Michael or Gabriel attempted to reason with him.

But Castiel wouldn't go down without a fight.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asked softly. Castiel shifted his arm to look in the direction the man's voice sounded from, finding him leaning against the doorframe with something of concern on his features.

Castiel shielded his eyes again, keeping quiet. This was something he most certainly could not tell Dean about. The man would be furious and then he would most likely do something reckless, and Castiel would be to blame. He didn't regret what he did, knowing just how great an impact his Grace had on Dean's soul and what a difference it made to the man's behaviour, yet Dean had seen it as wrong at the time. However, from what Castiel understood, Dean had only been upset because it had appeared as if Castiel was hurting, and it was nice to know someone cared for his health, even if it had been frightening to see Dean so scared because of Castiel's brutality. He shouldn't have ever threatened Dean like that, regardless of whether or not he intended to fulfill it.

He imagined that if Dean knew of this probable separation, he would not be pleased and then he would shout, and his soul would probably turn blue in colour again. Castiel didn't want to risk it. Not since he'd just risked his own life by making it yellow once more.

"I'm just tired. That's all," he sighed, raising his other arm to blot out the sunlight to his right. It was incredibly bright today, and the glare through the window pane was beginning to make his eyes ache - not the same as when he experienced a headache, but an undesirable pain regardless.

He froze when he felt Dean's hands settle on his hips, aware of just how much his shirt had risen when he lifted his arms, but he couldn't be bothered to move - and he was meant to be feigning exhaustion anyway, so for now he would act like he didn't care. He was grateful when Dean tugged the fabric back over his stomach, smoothing it down gently before sitting beside him. Well, Castiel only assumed as such, owing to the way the mattress sunk to the right hand side of his body, casting a shadow over his form which he most appreciated.

"Do you wanna stay home today? I don't even have to go to class - they don't really care if we go or not, so long as we pass the exam at the end."

Castiel smiled, stretching his arms over his head and cracking an eye open. "No. We're going. I'm not going to let you skip college purely because I'm slightly weary."

He sat up, pushing Dean lightly with his palm as he rose to his feet. "Are you sure I'm even allowed to attend?"

"That's why we're going early: to smuggle you in before anyone asks questions!" Dean grinned, pushing him back. "But people bring their girlfriends and stuff in all the time, so they shouldn't really mind if you come with me. It’s not like we're gonna fuck on a table or anything."

"I should hope not," Castiel agreed. "The conditions in such a place aren't exactly hygienic."

Dean looked slightly taken aback, although the amusement was clear in his expression, a smirk pulling at his lips. It took a few seconds before Castiel realised exactly what he'd said, and he felt the heat blossom on his cheeks, spreading to his ears. "N-not that I would if it _was_ hygienic! I didn't mean ... s-sorry!"

He concealed his face in his palms, hiding his embarrassment from his companion. This was awful - just when he had tried to avoid ruining their relationship, he'd gone and said something so very uncouth and suggestive. Dean's laughter wasn't helping the situation, and Castiel tried to ignore it, focussing on his quickening heart rate as he attempted to calm himself.

He could have handled that completely serenely, but instead he was being ridiculously timid - he was not himself with all these emotions present! The crying, the blushing; he hated the effects such sentiments had on his body

Dean's laughter died down and Castiel peeked through his fingers, not ready to unveil his heated face just yet. Dean stepped closer to him, grinning as he carded his fingers through Castiel's hair.

"Well, maybe if I cleaned my workstation, you'd change your mind."

The man winked at him before exiting the room, leaving Castiel to stand alone. He didn't want to even begin to think about what Dean had meant by that, worried that he'd interpret it wrongly to how Dean had meant it. There were ... very few ways that sentence could actually be taken, but he refused to address each and every underlying meaning.

He took a deep breath, letting his hands fall from his face and the cool temperature to envelop his skin. To dwell on such an instance would be futile. Castiel could overcome it, just like he'd overcome everything else as of yet.

Cautiously he stepped out into the corridor, pleased to see that Dean was nowhere in sight. He made his way down the stairs slowly, suddenly aware of Dean's gaze trained on his every movement. "Don't look at me," he grumbled, dipping his head to refrain from letting Dean see the blush that still burned away at his face.

The man laughed again, opening the front door and waiting patiently beside it for Castiel to traipse through. The cold air was refreshing as it brushed his cheeks, cooling them down considerably, as he walked toward the impala. There were still traces of debris on the seats from when they'd visited the forest, which was surprising because Dean usually made certain that his beloved car was in pristine condition at all times. He looked down at the leather through the passenger window, noting every little flake of dried mud, the leaves that had become lodged in the seam, and finally his eyes fell on the slight blood stains where he'd been sitting a few days ago. He’d never noticed that before. Dean probably hadn't seen it yet either ...

Castiel knew the man would be furious to see such unsightly marks on the fabric, and he cringed, hoping that Dean would avoid looking at them for the next few days. He knew that he could clean the blood from the leather when Dean permitted him to use his Grace again. Castiel thought it ridiculous to abide to such rules – much like that of the ‘no complaining’ – when he had every right to do what he wanted, but he had made the man worrisome and he needed to redeem himself.

As soon as Dean unlocked the car, Castiel clambered in, leaning back in the exact position he had been sitting in when his wings had begun to break the skin to conceal the tainted material. Dean just glanced at him curiously as he turned the key in the ignition, starting up the car with that same invigorating noise the engine made every time. He tried to avoid looking at the man beside him, but he'd always found Dean's expression whilst driving fascinating. It was one of a relaxed and calm state with that slight edge of enjoyment, and it made Castiel happy to see him so at ease. Driving always seemed to take the man's mind off of things and it had become a healthy distraction, much like running, just obviously not as beneficial for his body. But it was a good way to handle his stress, going for long drives without having to talk to anyone, and just being able to think.

Castiel could relate to his wanting to be alone, what with their issues being somewhat similar. Gordon Walker had been making things difficult for Dean at college for a while now despite Dean's age advantage. Castiel had hated seeing Dean being treated with such disrespect, but he felt slightly pitiful toward the Walker family.

The boy's sister was kidnapped when Gordon was very young, and only in recent years had they been reunited again. However, what the girl had experienced was incredibly traumatic, and from what Castiel understands, to this day she still cannot speak.

The only real reason he knows of this, is because Uriel had been assigned to Gordon's mother, the human who suffered greatly at the loss of her child. Uriel hadn't been particularly sympathetic, barely easing her pain and watching with a perverted sort of interest as she wept constantly. That was one of the reasons why Castiel despised the angel so, even if others owed it to the connection between the Walker family and Dean Winchester.

Overall, the kidnapping hadn't really altered Gordon's personality much at all, perhaps making him a little bitter, but to know that he hadn't even cared for her return was horrifying. If it had been the Winchester family in their place, Dean would be absolutely thrilled to see Sam again – guaranteed!

The bond between the siblings was an interesting one, as both were equally as dependant on the other, in addition to the obvious prospect of wealth in Sam's case. Sam relied upon Dean for comfort and trust, confiding everything in the man and intent on making Dean proud, whilst Dean relied on Sam for sanity - having something to live for every day, and to have someone who was always there for him.

Castiel knew that Dean was _his_ only real reason for living. It had been that way ever since the man had been born.

The bond between himself and Dean had been far more diverse than the two he'd experienced before, and although it had alarmed him at first, it had essentially saved his life. He could tell straight away that Dean would grow up to be kind and selfless, no matter how much torment he would be put through, and Castiel had wanted to be exactly the same, wondering why he had let others mould his being into such a pathetic one.

"Look, if you're pissed at me for making that stupid sexual comment then I'm sorry," Dean murmured, glancing across at him briefly.

"Why would you think that I'm angry with you?" Castiel asked, watching the tiny fleck of blue taint the man's soul. The comment had made him confused, but not angered in the slightest.

"Cos' you've been staring at me for the past five minutes. I thought you were doing it to make me feel really uncomfortable as, like, some sort of penance or something."

"Oh," Castiel bit down on his lower lip. He hadn't been aware that he was staring, but he found it rather amusing to know that Dean had thought it a punishment. "I didn't mean to ..."

"I'd totally understand if you were though - I mean I shouldn't have said something like that to you. It was really inappropriate."

"I'm not angry, Dean," Castiel assured him, staring ahead at the road. "You were being playful, and that's absolutely fine. I'm just ... not used to that topic of conversation."

He'd overheard other angels talking about sex, and obviously he'd heard Dean talk about it before during his watch, but it had never really been of any interest to him. A bond-mate was out of the question, because no one saw anything but the colour of his wings, and anyway, it wasn't as if the activity had been made to sound enjoyable. Not in Heaven, at least.

He shouldn't have even been thinking about it. Sex was only good for reproduction, and Castiel didn't intend to reproduce, so there was no point to his thoughts.

There was a sudden hiatus in conversation, and Castiel begun to wonder if what he'd said was too personal. Dean hadn't needed to know about that.

"But you've had sex before, right?"

Castiel could feel the heat crawl along his skin again, and he ducked his head, staring down at his hands. If he had, he would not have left Heaven - not when he had a partner willing enough to conceive in the first place. "No."

"So are all angels virgins then?" Dean pressed, and Castiel could see him look across from the corner of his eye.

"No."

"Then why the hell aren't you going out and getting laid?"

"Laid?"

"Having sex with someone," Dean stressed, glancing across again.

Castiel did not want to. It was as simple as that.

He understood that Gabriel often visited earth to take part in the activity, even if it wasn't for the reproductive purpose - but Gabriel was an archangel. He could do whatever he pleased.

He kept quiet. Dean would most likely mock him for saying such a thing, and then he would be bombarded with questions on _why_ he didn't want to, and he did not want that kind of attention.

 

*

 

Dean stretched, yawning loudly as Turner granted them permission to leave. Once more, Dean had already known everything related to the class topic, and yet again, he was forced to endure a workshop when he could have been doing something else, all because Castiel was acting like a bossy parent.

Cas had been allowed to stay in the class, for which Dean had been incredibly grateful for because the angel had been something of a distraction. He was easy to wind up, constantly getting annoyed when Dean lost interest in the task at hand, and making threats that he blatantly didn’t intend to carry out should Dean ‘disobey’.

It gave him chills when the angel said that, and man did it make him more inclined to do so.

Castiel went quiet the moment they stepped foot in the corridor though, losing his domineering charm and replacing it with his regular, awkward nature, staying that way while they walked to the car even though Dean tried to make polite conversation.

So, Dean basically stopped trying, figuring that if Cas didn’t want to talk, there was no point.

He didn’t know if it was his fault or not, since he had kinda flirted with Cas a little, just to test the waters. Castiel had pretty much thrown it all back at him, oblivious to what Dean had been hinting at and only growing more annoyed because he kept talking. 

He played the radio at full blast on their way back, glancing over at the angel every so often, only to find Castiel staring out the passenger side window each time.

“Everything okay, dude?” Dean asked, turning the music down slightly as he waited for a reply.

Nothing.

Dean hadn’t expected anything, to be honest, so he just turned the music back up as he focussed on the road ahead. Yeah, maybe it was a little insensitive, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t gonna force the angel to talk to him or anything.

After a while he felt the nudge against his thigh, and he looked down to see Castiel curling up on the seat, laying his head on Dean’s leg like he had the day before. Dean didn’t really mind, but he was concerned.

He guessed Cas wasn’t feeling too good. It didn’t seem like a headache because Cas wasn’t writhing in pain or whatever, but it could just be something normal. Or the guy could be tired, because that was another possibility.

Dean didn’t really want to dwell on the thought of it being anything serious because it just didn’t seem that way. Yeah, maybe it was a pre-cursor to a headache or something, but right now, Cas was relatively normal in terms of health, so Dean would try to think about how great it was that Cas wasn’t suffering instead.

It was Thursday when Cas was finally struck with another headache though, and on that occasion, it was pretty bad. Dean made him stay in bed all day, going to class without the company and then later on to work. It was ... it was Dean’s fault in a way – the whole forcing Castiel to stay at home. They hadn’t been able to find Castiel’s blade, and, well, without it, Cas couldn’t really heal the wounds on his back, The skin had burst open again, and it wasn’t pretty.

Cas had cried when Dean tried to clean them, so right now, they were being protected by some cotton wool and a roll of bandages, just to keep everything in place.

But yeah, the headache had really taken it’s toll. Castiel was ill; feverish and weak bodied – hell, the guy was barely capable of sitting up on his own. Dean tried not to worry – well, it was normal to worry about his friends, but he didn’t want to worry so much that he couldn’t think straight.

Cas would be fine. Of course he would – as soon as they found that fucking angelic knife thingy.

He closed up The Roadhouse that evening, since Ellen trusted him so much. It was cold and the sky was pitch black. No moon, no stars. Just darkness.

He hated nights like these, when it was so dark and empty that it was almost unbearable to endure. He missed Cas. He would have been more at ease with the angel accompanying him.

Sure, Cas was tough – at least, he tried to be – but to have something so harsh occur so frequently ... the guy just wasn’t cut out for that much pain.

Just because he was an angel didn’t mean he should have to withstand so much shit.

Dean tried to get the key in the door, digging his cell phone out of his jeans to shine light on the invisible lock. There was a brief shuffle of footsteps behind him before he heard a girl speak.

“Well, hi there.”

Dean spun around immediately, keys falling between his fingers and clattering to the ground. She stood in front of him; dark haired with dark eyes – really fucking dark eyes. It might have just been the poor lighting that supplied the area, but it was creepy all the same.

“Um, we’re closed now. You can come back tomorrow,” he said, crouching down to grab the keys from the tarmac, proceeding to lock the doors. He didn’t particularly want to hang around these parts for any longer than needs be – especially since the kids had started another bonfire a short ways down the street, laughing and cheering as the flames licked the air.

“That’s not why I’m here, Dean,” she said, voice low and thick.

Dean stilled. He would have remembered this chick if they’d met before. He definitely hadn’t slept with her. “Who are you?”

The girl giggled, striding forward ever so slowly. “Meg Masters, at your service,” she curtseyed, a twisted smile distorting her pretty features.

“If it’s drugs you’re offering, then no thanks,” he grumbled, shoving the keys in his pocket. He was over that now. Steve should know better than sending a couple of dealers his way.

“No,” she said softly. “I understand you have a bit of a problem. I’m just here to help.”

“Yeah. That’s what you all say. I don’t need anything.”

“I’m not offering you drugs, Dean. I’m offering you happiness.”

He grimaced at the lame sales attempt. That was pretty much the worst one he’d heard as of yet. “Listen ... uh, Meg? Right?” The girl nodded, wavy locks sliding over her jacket like writhing snakes. “I don’t need whatever it is you’re selling. I’m clean, and I’m happy. Okay?” Dean brushed past her to start his walk home, but Meg latched onto his right arm, nails biting into his skin despite the thick material of his jacket.

“I can give you Castiel,” she hissed in his ear. “I know it’s what you want.”

“What are you – “

“Ten years of happiness – just say _yes_ and he’ll love you until you die!”

He ripped his arm out of her grasp, stumbling backwards slightly. “You’re insane!”

Although he’d proclaimed such a thing, he still couldn’t help but panic. Meg knew how he’d felt about Cas – she knew it was what he’d wanted since meeting the guy, and here she was. Offering him just that.

Then again, he’d heard of people being spied on before, learning schedules to lie in wait for a sales opportunity or something. He’d told Steve to back off a year ago, but clearly the guy needed the money.

“So you don’t believe me?” She grinned manically, eyes glinting with artificial light. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a free trial.”

“What?” Dean blurted. He wasn’t sure just how stoned this girl was, but she kept spouting nonsense regardless.

“Two hours. I’ll give you a two hour trial,” Meg smirked, turning round to walk back into the shadows. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Dean!” She called over her shoulder, disappearing out of sight.

_What the fuck?!_

 

*

 

Castiel woke with a start. His heart was racing and his chest felt tight, but it wasn't like his headaches. At least, he _hoped_ it wasn't. For starters, his head didn't hurt, and that was usually a sign of a headache, so he ruled out the possibility of it being such a thing altogether, because how can you have a headache if your head doesn't ache?

This was new. It wasn't a bad ache, as such, it was more a sine qua non, and he didn't know what it was he had this sudden urgency for. He was marginally annoyed, because this feeling had disturbed his dream state, and he had been enjoying the peculiar thoughts his mind had collaborated.

He closed his eyes again, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He couldn't afford to panic, not when Sam was trying to sleep only a short distance down the hall. It wouldn't be fair should Castiel wake him.

Dean would be home soon.

Dean ...

Castiel's face grew incredibly warm, and he dug his way beneath the blankets, concealing his chin beneath the soft material. Thinking about Dean only made the feeling worse.

He squinted at the digital clock through the dark: 01:29.

Dean was usually back by now - _they_ were usually back by this time. Castiel could feel the nauseating feeling churn in his stomach at the thought of Dean becoming injured because he had been too pathetic to look after his charge. It was embarrassing - incredibly so - but now Castiel was worried, and the worry wouldn't leave his mind. It would be all his fault, and he didn't want to see Dean hurt.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut again, drawing the comforter over his nose.

_Dean would be fine._

_Dean would be fine._

_Dean would be fine._

 

*

 

Meg’s words ran through his thoughts for the entirety of his walk back.

 _A two hour trial_ – what did that even mean? Was it code for something?

Dean searched his pockets in a blind panic, attempting to find any form of chemical planted on his body. The girl could have slipped something into his jacket when she grabbed him.

He was relieved when he found nothing, but he still couldn’t help but be confused.

He swung open the front door as quietly as he could, removing his shoes as he pressed it closed behind him. The interior was warm and comforting – he’d been outside for so long that his fingers had turned painfully numb, and he found it fairly difficult to get them to move.  Dean blew on the cold tips, rubbing them together to produce a kinetic heat. He worked his arms out of his jacket to hang it on the coat rack before making his way up the stairs.

He headed to the bathroom first, grabbing his meds from the cabinet. He’d stopped bothering with taking them in the morning, having both doses in the evening instead. It was easier that way, and he didn’t know why he hadn’t taken them in a similar routine when he’d first been prescribed the pills.

The bedroom was next, and Dean wandered in silently to grab a shirt to sleep in.  He felt exhausted, and he was glad he could sleep in tomorrow, even if it would be for as little as an hour. It felt like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.

“Dean?”

Dean changed his course, padding over to the bed and seating himself on the edge of the mattress. “Hey, buddy. How you feeling?”

“Much better now! I found my blade,” Castiel smiled up at him through the moderate darkness, propping himself up on his slight elbows. The shirt Cas was wearing slipped down his arms a little, exposing the porcelain skin beneath it.

“That’s great, dude,” Dean mumbled, standing back up and grabbing a flannel tee from the open drawers. “Get some rest though, okay?”

“Where are you going?”

He spun back around to face the guy, gesturing at the doorway. “To the living room. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Castiel sat up completely, fingers raking over the duvet like a cat kneading its claws. “Can’t you stay here for a while longer? I’m not tired yet.”

Dean felt kind of bad for practically abandoning the guy all day, and it wasn’t like he had to wake up early tomorrow morning ...

“Okay.”

Cas smiled again, pulling the blankets away so that Dean could sit comfortably beside him. “Did you have a nice time at work?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t too busy, so me and Jo played darts for most of my shift,” Dean replied as he sat down. He figured that there wasn’t any point mentioning Meg. She was just another drugged-up, delusional girl who had probably dug up a bit of info to make the deal seem more promising. “It sucked that you weren’t there though,” he added, nudging the angel in the ribs.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’ll go tomorrow,” Cas apologised, eyes fixated on Dean’s own. They shimmered in the vague moonlight, a white contrast that sharpened the blue of his irises.

“You were ill, dude. You don’t have to apologise.”

Dean lowered his gaze, drawn to the prominent curve of Castiel’s collar bone protruding from beneath the cotton. He reached out a hand tenderly to re-adjust the oversized garment, concealing the delicate flesh from view.

“Dean,” Castiel mumbled, causing Dean to flit his eyes up to Castiel’s once more. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean? ‘ _Wrong_ ’ how?” Dean asked, analysing his companion’s features. Cas wore a confused expression, small creases lining his brow.

“I – I can’t explain what it is. It just feels ... strange.”

“You’re not feeling sick again are you?” Dean quizzed, pressing a palm against Castiel’s forehead to check his temperature. He couldn’t feel a searing heat like he had earlier, but it didn’t mean Cas wasn’t developing another fever. “Do you think you’ll need your blade?”

“No – no! It’s nothing like that! It doesn’t feel bad. Just different.”

Cas could be talking about a ton of things, and without some sort of description, Dean wasn’t going to be able to help. It wasn’t the guys fault though, of course. “When did it start?”

Castiel looked down at his own hands, fiddling with the edge of the comforter. “When I woke up.”

“Which was ...?” Dean pressed, trying to catch the angel’s eye.

“Around twenty minutes ago.”

 “Could you _try_ explaining what it actually feels like, Cas?”

Castiel continued to toy with the fabric, tensing slightly. “Will you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise.”

The angel tugged at the hem of the cover, drawing the material closer and clutching it to his chest. “Well, when you sat next to me – and-and then when you moved my shirt – it made me feel ... good. I don’t know how else I could put it. I’ve never felt this way before.” Castiel’s eyes finally drifted up to meet Dean’s own as he finished and even in the dark, Dean could see the uncertainty in his expression. “I don’t want this to sound hurtful in any way, Dean, but I didn’t feel as odd until you came into the room.”

Dean himself, hadn’t actually heard of anything like that before, but he felt kind of responsible for making Cas feel so weird in the first place. If it was his presence that was making Cas feel this way then ...

_I can give you Castiel._

The words rang through his ears suddenly, a sickening feeling settling in his chest.

_A two hour trial._

Was Cas experiencing _love?_

Dean himself had never been in love, but he was guessing it was way stronger than the way he felt about Cas – or anyone else he’d ever liked, for that matter – if that was anything to go by.

But that was ridiculous! There was no way that girl could’ve made Cas feel this way!

Right?

“I’m sorry if I offended you! I just didn’t want to lie in case this was something you could help me with!”

 _"_ No, no – Cas," Dean mumbled, rubbing his brow nervously. “Can I ask you something?”

Castiel nodded slowly, and Dean licked his lips with a sense of apprehension, not really sure how he could phrase the question. “Do angels visit earth often?”

Cas looked a little confused at this, tilting his head like he usually does. “It depends on what you mean by ‘visit’.”

“Well,” Dean cleared his throat. He was going to sound like a complete and utter idiot if this wasn’t the case after all. “I met this girl when I was closing up the bar, and she uhh ... she tried to offer me something, and when I said no, she said she’d give me a free trial and I think that’s why y –“

“You were approached by a demon?!” Castiel cried, and Dean slammed a hand over the angel’s mouth, pushing him back against the mattress.

“Dude!” Dean hissed. “Sam is right down the fucking corridor!”

He could feel the heat radiate from Castiel’s face, so he drew his hand away gradually, watching Castiel’s eyes become lidded and dark. “Now what the hell do you mean she was a demon?”

Cas continued to breathe heavily, letting go of the comforter to slide his arms around Dean’s neck, drawing them closer. “Demons,” Castiel began, his voice rough and even lower than usual. “See your greatest desires, and they offer you just that in exchange for your soul.”

“She never said anything about my soul,” Dean murmured, feeling the angel’s breath ghost over his lips as he was pulled closer. “She said I could have ten years of happiness.”

Cas sighed, pouting. "You don't need a deal to make you happy. I'm trying so hard Dean. If you’d just let me use my blade, then it shouldn’t take any longer tha –“

“No.” Dean dropped his head to Castiel's shoulder, inhaling the angel’s delicate scent. "You're doing great without it." He lay down beside the angel, feeling Castiel’s fingers slide through his hair gently. "I'm not gonna say 'yes'."

"Good," the angel hummed, drawing the comforter over them both before settling his hand on the upper part of Dean’s spine.

Dean frowned. "Cas, are you sure this is really appropriate?”

"I don't want you to leave."

Dean threw an arm over Castiel’s waist tentatively, immediately feeling the benefit when Castiel moved closer, the angel's head tucked beneath Dean's chin.

Five minutes.

 

*

 

Dean woke up to find the angel watching him, blue eyes seemingly eager to meet his own.

"Hello, Dean."

Their limbs were still intertwined; arms looped around each others bodies comfortably.

“Mornin', Cas," he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Shit. Sorry - I wasn't planning on falling asleep here."

"That's quite alright, Dean. It wasn't unpleasant."

Dean grinned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit up, tearing himself away from his companion. Castiel shifted into a cross-legged position beside him, tilting forward so that he could examine Dean’s face.

"You okay now dude? No more _abnormalities?"_

"Yes, the feeling has ceased. Thank you for asking."

Dean felt a pang of regret. He liked clingy!Castiel.

"Great!" Dean cheered. "You don't hate me for it or anything, do you?"

"Wh-why would I hate you? It doesn't stop you from being a wonderful person."

Dean snorted with laughter. "Stop saying that, man. I'm not 'wonderful' - I'm normal. Go make some friends; you'll see what I mean."

Cas smiled faintly, a look of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" Castiel outstretched his legs and scratched the back of his neck.

"Everything is okay, right?"

"Last night, I acted in a rather," Cas paused as he searched for the right word. "Unsightly manner. I’m sorry for the way I treated you."

“You don’t need to apologise. You didn’t really have any control over it.”

Castiel just nodded.

"Tell you what: we'll go out for lunch later, okay? It’s not fair if I make you stay inside for another day," Dean announced, rising up and stretching his arms above his head. "I'm gonna go for a shower."

"Oh ... are you sure?" Castiel asked. “It won’t cause you to struggle with the monthly payments, will it?”

“Nope. Not unless you buy like a barrel of wine or something – not that that’s the sort of place we’re going, but yeah. It should be fine.”

“Okay then,” Castiel said, the corners of his mouth slinking upwards as a slight pink colour crept across his features, spreading to his ears. “... Thank you.”

Dean chuckled softly on his way out. "Don't mention it."

 

*

 

Dean looked a little nervous as they pulled up outside the small cafe so Castiel reached over to touch his arm. "Are you quite alright?"

"Yeah! No, everything's fine!" Dean grinned, teeth flashing briefly. "You coming?" He asked as he opened the car door.

"Of course."

Castiel followed the man after exiting the vehicle, keeping close to his side.

The interior of the building was warm and enticing, wooden tables and chairs decorating the well polished floor. It smelt rather pleasant, too; an assortment of scents drifting about the moderately sized room.

"Dean! Long time no see!" A dark haired girl shouted from behind the counter, grin stretched wide across her pretty features. She leant across the polished surface in a rather inappropriate manner, given her choice of clothing. Castiel didn't like the way she looked at Dean, almost like he was a form of prey.

Dean smiled back a little resiliently. Well, Castiel liked to think so anyway.

"Hey, Pamela. Table for two, if it's not too much trouble."

Pamela's smile softened as her dark eyes passed over Castiel. "Who's this cutie then?"

"Oh. This is Castiel. He's a good friend of mine," Dean avoided her piercing gaze when it flickered back over to him, rubbing the back of his neck hesitantly. If Castiel didn't know any better, he'd say Dean looked embarrassed. He could feel the smirk tug at his lips at the mere thought of it.

"... Uh-huh." Pamela murmured. She wore a strange expression; one of both understanding and confusion.

They were led to a table near the back, a corner that was well lit by the surrounding windows and bright lights above. The woman patted Castiel on the arm delicately as she walked by, still wearing the same unreadable emotion.

The pair were facing each other, Dean looking more at ease now the girl had left them alone.

Castiel was also pleased with their current situation. He truly did appreciate Dean's company.

"Pam’s a real card," Dean began, looking up through his lashes. "She thinks she can predict the future and all that crap."

"Some humans do possess such an ability, Dean,” Castiel informed him. “It’s not unheard of."

The man looked vaguely startled at this, eyes widening marginally. "You're joking, right?"

"No. Your friend may indeed be able to predict the future,” he smiled helpfully.

Dean went a little pink, a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s just weird.”

"Has she told you of your future, Dean?"

"Nah. I never asked ... you think I should?” The man quizzed, picking up a menu.

Castiel’s immediate thought, was ‘no’. He wasn’t sure of how much of a positive impact he'd had on the man’s life as of yet, and even though Dean’s soul was bright - and surprisingly yellow considering their being together for just one week - Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean’s fate had changed very dramatically. Especially since Castiel was still expecting Raphael to separate them relatively soon.

Castiel had attempted to contact Gabriel through the means of prayer on Monday afternoon, but he hadn’t received a response as of yet. He knew there was a war on at the moment, and that perhaps Gabriel was busy with more important matters, but Castiel was happy to wait, so long as Gabriel should make himself known sooner rather than later.

“Not really, but it’s your choice,” Castiel shrugged finally.

"Anyway, what are you gonna order?"

"I'll have whatever you're having, Dean."

Dean chuckled softly. "But you don't even know what I want yet."

Castiel blinked at him. "I trust your judgement. You'll pick something decent."

He was rewarded with a tender smile, a familiar warmth spreading throughout his abdomen at the mere sight of it.

"Cas, I –"

"You ready to order, boys?" Pamela queried as she drifted past, notepad and pen in hand, ready to write down their requests.

"Y-yeah. Can we have two burgers and fries, and uh ..." Dean turned to look at Castiel once more. "Do you want anything in particular to drink?"

"No. I'll have the same as you."

Dean's eyes lingered on his own as he nodded slowly. "Okay then. Can we have two Cokes then, Pam?"

"Sure thing," Pamela grinned, stepping closer to Dean. She leant down to whisper something in his ear.

Dean breathed out an "I know. I just ..." and their eye contact was broken as the man looked away, pink flush tainting his freckled cheeks.

Castiel was unsure of how to perceive such a scene. Dean had been acting peculiar all morning, and it was becoming quite frustrating.

As soon as the girl had left them, he noticed that Dean continued to look uncomfortable, eyes darting about the room, never focusing on any object for more than a few seconds.

And he refused to look at Castiel.

"Dean ... everything is alright, isn’t it?"

Dean went darker in colour for the second time within the hour. Castiel could feel an odd sensation coursing through his body at the sight. Was he embarrassing the man?

"Yeah, dude. Everything’s fine."

"Why won't you look at me? Have I done something wrong?"

It was all very strange, but he could sense the underlying feeling that all of this was his fault.

"No - no! Cas, you've done nothing wrong. I don't think that's possible, to be honest," Dean smiled timidly.

Castiel laughed – Dean was being ridiculous!

"Do you truly believe that?"

"Just take it as a compliment, okay?" The man grumbled, hiding his face in his hands.

Castiel reached over to move Dean's hands away, lifting the other man's chin so that their eyes could meet. “Thank you, Dean."

He could feel the heat from Dean's face seep into his fingers; the man was overly warm, face bright pink now, freckles dancing as his lips stretched into a wide grin.

Dean was extraordinary.

"Am I interrupting something?" Pamela giggled, placing the drinks beside them. Castiel dropped his hand immediately, feeling a similar heat burn  away at his own face.

"Cas here was just professing his love for me," Dean joked, casting an appreciative glance over Castiel's features.

The girl giggled but she didn’t stay long, passing by after setting down cutlery and the like.

Castiel pressed his cold hands against his cheeks in an attempt to lower his temperature. Dean was watching him, a fond expression on his face.

"It suits you, y'know."

"What suits me?" Castiel asked quietly, ceasing the gentle touch.

"Blushing."

It only made matters worse, and Castiel looked away. Dean complimented him on his appearance frequently, and it always made him feel this way. Castiel wasn’t fond of blushing, himself, as it only made him seem more pathetic. He’d hoped that by now his emotions would have become familiar and a little less daunting, but they were still out of his control, no matter how calm he tried to remain.

“Am I making _you_ embarrassed now?” The man teased, kicking him lightly under the table.

Castiel pouted, glancing up again. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Dean laughed, tipping his head to the side and giving Castiel a peculiar look. Castiel could feel the strange ache in his chest again, so he reached for his glass, sipping at the dark liquid at first and finding that it stung the back of his throat the more he consumed. It was sweet in terms of taste, but the burn was most unpleasant and he had to refrain from drinking too much in fear of choking. How humans managed to drink something of this standard was disturbing. Surely they found it to be irritating and therefore unworthy of consumption?

He put the glass back down on the table, pushing it away to avoid spilling it. Dean had paid for this drink, and Castiel would finish it. That would be the polite thing to do.

“So how’s that head of yours then,” Dean murmured, resting back in his chair. “And your back, for that matter. Everything normal, or there abouts?”

Castiel nodded, tucking his feet beneath the body of his chair. “Yes. There shouldn’t be any problems for a while now.”

Dean looked confused, scratching his jaw absent-mindedly. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, when I healed myself, I dulled my senses – and my wings won’t break free unless my body is truly weak and in a lot of pain – so until the effect wears off, the headaches won’t be an issue,” he smiled, reassuring his companion as their food was brought over. Castiel thanked the waitress, a different girl to Pamela – and she giggled, looking back over her shoulder as she walked away. His smile grew at the thought of him making someone so happy, even if that person wasn’t Dean.

“Dude, if you like her, why don’t you ask for her number or something?” Dean mumbled, taking a bite of his burger.

“Why would I ask for her number when I have no intention of calling her?” Castiel queried, reaching for his drink again. He couldn’t really explain his thirst for the beverage – not since it hurt to swallow – but he found himself drawn to it again, even if he wasn’t parched in the slightest. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask if she would only expect me to call.”

Dean shrugged, looking up again. “Just thought you were interested in her, was all.”

Something was wrong here. Castiel could sense the change in Dean, but he couldn't place his finger on what it was. There was most definitely a change in his attitude, and the atmosphere, for that matter. It was unsettling.

"You can start eating, dude. You don't need my permission if that's what you're waiting for."

"Oh. Of course," Castiel remembered, picking up the stacked food. It smelt wonderful, a combination of seared meat and fresh vegetation, packed together between a soft bread. He bit into the masterpiece, a wash of flavours enveloping his tongue.

He stilled at the sound of Dean’s laughter, glancing up uncertainly. “What?”

“Dude, you’re practically having a foodgasm!” Dean snorted, reaching for his own drink.

“Excuse me?”

Dean just shook his head, smirking, so Castiel turned his focus to the man’s soul, not really caring for Dean’s peculiar comment.

He was quite proud of its intensity, barely any blue gracing its surface as the pinks and yellows overlapped each other. Considering the fact that he hadn’t tampered with it since Sunday morning, it was impressive to see such pleasant colours decorating the orb.

Very impressive indeed.

 

*

 

Since meeting the man, Castiel liked to think that he and Dean were closer. However, with the knowledge that the demon would most likely be waiting for Dean that same evening, he couldn't afford to let Dean out of his sight, so their literal closeness would be inevitable. Castiel had chosen to keep his angel blade with him at all times, no matter how much he regretted relying upon his Grace to solve his problems. If the demon should try to offer Dean anything more, he would dispose of them immediately. Dean couldn't possibly fathom what would happen if he actually sold his soul for something that he already had.

What Castiel had experienced was mildly irritating, although he would admit that he _had_ liked the way he'd felt for that short period of time. Dean's presence had stirred up a warm and possessive sensation in his chest – one that had been incredibly hard to fight. And now he found himself noticing everything that Dean did; whether it was the way the man rolled his shoulders back when he was somewhat stressed, to the broad smiles that were shot in Castiel's direction when he was happy. Castiel had picked this all up in a single day, despite having watched over the man ever since Dean had been born.

As promised, he accompanied Dean to work that evening. It gave him the chance to watch the human without it being deemed ‘creepy’ or ‘weird’, as Gabriel had once warned him. The human was wearing his 'fake smile'; an expression that had no real emotion behind it. It was true that Castiel still had a very weak grasp on the subject, but Dean's eyes appeared lifeless. There was no bright flare or excitement.

It was very complex. One minute, Dean would be talking to a customer - serving a drink or just engaging in polite conversation - features dull and very much unlike the man. The next, he would be standing in front of Castiel; eyes animated and a _real_ smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Castiel found the sudden change in appearance most amusing, and he couldn’t help but feel overjoyed that he could make Dean so cheerful.

"You ready to go, or do you want a drink first?" Dean queried, sitting down on the stool beside him.

"That depends on what you'd prefer."

Dean gave him a look that could only be deemed as sympathetic. "No, dude. I want you to decide." He looked incredibly tired and it would probably be more sensible for them to go home so Dean could sleep. The man really did need to stop working so late.

"Can we go home?"

"Sure," Dean nodded as he clapped Castiel on the back gently. They both rose up to leave, shoulders bumping as they exited the bar, Dean waving briefly at Ellen as they strolled through the doorway.

The night sky looked so pretty; numerous constellations on display for all to see, and the moon bright and full. It was all so clear. So perfe –

Castiel froze on the sidewalk, grabbing Dean's attention. "Cas?"

He could sense it, a dark and malignant force only a short distance away, leering in the shadows behind them. It wasn't particularly powerful, Castiel could tell that much, but it was still too close for comfort. There was a slight shuffle against the paving before the figure emerged – a woman with distorted features and a gaping hole in her chest where her human soul had shrivelled and decayed.

"Well hi there, Dean!" She crooned. "I see you brought along your beloved Castiel."

Castiel stepped forward, pressing Dean back with his palm to keep him out of harms way. "You have no business here."

"I've heard all about you, Castiel. Word gets around quickly," the girl laughed darkly, daring a few more steps closer. "Sadly, this hasn't got anything to do with you, sweetheart." The demon grinned, coming to a standstill before them. "But I can make time for you afterwards if lover boy over here doesn't think you're worth any of his."

Dean barged past Castiel's arm, taking hold of the girl's shirt before Castiel could reach out to stop him. "Listen here you delusional bitch: I don't want to make a deal, and if you so much as touch Castiel, I'll cut out your fucking tongue so you won't be able to offer anyone else shitty promises."

"Dean!" Castiel chided, grabbing hold of the man's bicep to pull him out of harms way. He didn't know this demon, and although there had been a few that showed some form of vague compassion, he didn't want to risk Dean's well being. "Let her go."

The demon laughed callously, raising a hand in the air as if to wave at him, and Castiel found himself slamming into the brick exterior of The Roadhouse. Pain exploded at the back of his skull and he dropped to his knees, clutching his cranium. It was wet, and it stung when he touched it, but he knew such an injury wasn't fatal. He climbed to his feet, reeling as his sight blurred and distorted, a shade of red altering his vision as he dug into his coat pocket for his blade, gripping the handle tight, but keeping it sheathed. Castiel let the soft energy ease his wound and clear his vision, but his restoration of good health wasn't soon enough to prevent the same event from happening to Dean.

There was a sharp crack as the man hit the wall, and Castiel rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of Dean to search for a pulse. He sighed with relief when he found the slow beat, yet the sight of the thin blood trail leaking from between Dean's parted lips had him seething with rage.

"I started to wonder, _how did Dean do it?_ " The girl sang mischievously. "Was it a spell? I've thought about it a lot, you know, what with all the talk."

Castiel spun round to face her as he rose to his feet once more, an immense hatred for the demon bubbling away in the pit of his stomach.

 _"_ I have to say, I didn’t consider the possibility that you fell of your own accord. Because you're _in love with him_ for that matter!" She jeered, skipping down the paving until she was only a few feet away. Her gruesome flesh sagged and shifted with the childish motion, making her look even more monstrous.

"I'm sure Dean'd be thrilled to see his precious little boyfriend bruised and bloodied," the girl grinned, fang-like teeth glinting in the light of the lamp posts. "If he survives, that is. Humans are so weak, and sometimes I forget my own strength ..."

"Stop. Talking," he growled. This abomination was planting ideas in his mind. Castiel knew for certain that he did not love Dean. He loved God, and the feelings he had for Dean were significantly different. It could not be love.

"Why should I, Castiel?" She cackled. "You can't stop me. You can't stop _us_. I'm not the only one who knows about your absurd relationship with such a pathetic human being!"

"He's _not_ pathetic!" Castiel snarled as he thrust himself forward, embedding the glimmering blade in the girl's chest. Light filled her dark sockets and it shone from every crevice, every gouge in her flesh and she grinned weakly. Her skin began to disintegrate, tiny cells blowing away like ash on the wind.

"They'll find you, Castiel," she whispered; face crumpling and falling into a dark mass on the floor. "You can’t hide forever."

Castiel shivered as the rest of her body collapsed around the weapon, clothing bellowing about the dusty remains as it crashed to the ground. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to handle a demon, but he wasn’t keen on pursuing the thought.

He snapped his head back around to where Dean was lain on the ground, a nauseous feeling swarming in his stomach. Castiel rushed over, dropping to his knees beside the man. He pressed two fingers cautiously to Dean's forehead as he clung to his blade, searching the man's body for the source of the injury.

_Skull, ribs, lungs, left shoulder._

The man wouldn't die from his injuries, but they could be problematic if left untreated.

Castiel dragged his hand over Dean's left cheek, thumb delicately stroking the tanned skin as it made its decent. He let the energy from the blade seep into the man, numbing the pain so that he could get Dean home safely before working on the damage. It would take a while for Castiel to heal him properly, and the cold conditions surrounding them would most likely do more bad than good, so he slipped an arm beneath Dean's right shoulder to raise him carefully from the paving.

The man was silent, head lolling against Castiel's own as he began to drag them home. Before long, he started to tire. This body was not as strong as it was with his Grace, and Dean wasn't exactly light in weight, nor was he soft bodied. Dean's muscular form was incredibly tense, and it was relatively uncomfortable to hold him close. He did, nonetheless, as it was selfish to put his comfort before Dean's.

"...Cas."

Castiel ploughed on, raising his head so that he could meet Dean's wavering gaze. "It’s alright Dean. You're going to be fine."

Dean tried to support himself, feet shuffling along as he tried to walk on his own.

"Don't be stupid," Castiel puffed, pulling the man closer to his side. "You'll just hurt yourself further."

Dean sighed heavily, leaning against him for support. They were nearing the house now, only a short distance left to go. He was grateful that the two locations were relatively close to one another. Any further and Castiel would most likely be unable to manage.

Castiel dropped his eyes to the sidewalk when Dean's eyelids fluttered shut. He had never even considered the possibility that Dean would be harmed by a demon - because of his presence, no less. The unsettling feeling that this could happen again was frightening.

Dean did not deserve to be hurt.

Castiel ran his hand over Dean's hip as they approached the porch to assist the man up the steps as gently as he could. He pulled away slightly to search the pockets of Dean's jeans. The man groaned when Castiel's hand clasped the house keys, and the denim surrounding his wrist became tighter. He scoured Dean's face out of curiosity, but there was no change to his features. His face remained peaceful, eyes closed out of weariness.

It was strange, how at ease Dean was with their situation. Of course, the man's senses had been numbed so he would barely feel anything, but Castiel had meant prior to the injuries. Dean's soul would grow that little bit brighter when Castiel was with him. Even now, in Dean's weakened state, the intensity of the tiny light was absolutely incredible. He never realised just _how_ much happier he made the man.

Castiel drew out the keys and twisted the one assigned to the front door into the silver lock, replacing his palm on Dean's hip to take him inside. After shutting the door, he walked Dean toward the staircase, passing the living room without a second glance. There was no way he would let Dean sleep on the firm settee.

Dean's breaths were scratchy and harsh, slapping against Castiel's face as they lumbered up the stairs. He was trying to keep everything quiet for fear of waking Sam up, using his remaining strength to make sure Dean climbed each step safely and letting the man rest all of his weight upon him. If Sam should see the situation he would become incredibly worried, and Castiel didn’t want anyone else to become stressed because of his faults.

The bedroom was stuffy, but it was far more suited to Dean's condition than the living room would have been. He flicked on the light and shut the door, settling the other man against the mattress as he began removing the many layers that clothed Dean's torso.

"What are you doing, dude?" Dean slurred, cooperating all the same.

Castiel smiled faintly. "I need better access to your injuries. It won't take as long if I can actually touch the effected areas."

"Oh," Dean grinned sheepishly. "Okay."

Castiel slowly pulled at the undershirt, being extremely careful with Dean's left shoulder as he worked the sleeve off. "Do you want to lie down, or are you fine remaining seated?" He asked, folding the shirt and putting it on the floor beside the bed before taking his blade in his hand once more. It reminded him of when he first encountered the man, being stripped of his upper clothing so Dean could care for Castiel's own wounds.

"Uhh ... well how long will it take?" Dean croaked.

"It might take a while. I don't mind if you alternate between positions throughout the process, but lying down may be easier."

Dean started laughing. It was a dry sound, close to that of wheezing. "I'm so sorry - it's just, without the context, that could be taken a totally different way."

Castiel smiled out of politeness. He wasn't sure of what Dean was implying, but he wasn’t particularly curious as to find out what the man had meant by it. He slid out of his own jacket, dropping it to the ground as he sat on the mattress.

"I guess I'll lie down. It'll probably be more comfortable in the long run," the man blushed, leaning back with care as he kicked off his shoes. He winced slightly as he hit the pillows, hand flying up to clutch his chest.

Castiel leant over him, hair falling into his eyes as he brushed away Dean's fingers to touch the ribcage. "I've never tried this on you directly," he mumbled quietly.

"That's reassuring," Dean chuckled.

"I promise I won't hurt you, Dean," he said, lowering himself to lay beside the man and closing his eyes. He let the energy course through him, transferring it over Dean's wounds.

"It feels strange," Dean whispered, placing his hand over Castiel's own. Dean was definitely warmer now, and his breathing had regained its regular quiet hush.

Castiel reopened his eyes to admire the man's relaxed state. He looked so content and his soul was...

Well, it was ever so radiant. That delicate pink colour tainted its surface but it was positively breathtaking. Castiel had seen some truly wonderful things in his time, but nothing compared to this.

And for the first time, when Castiel's fingers lingered near to where the orb resided, he could feel it. An array of emotions flooded over him; a gentle heat that tickled ever so slightly and a glorious feeling that he couldn't even begin to describe. He'd never felt anything so pure and honest. But the most impressive aspect was that when he met Dean's gaze, the sensation seemed to double in intensity without becoming overwhelming. Castiel only wished he could experience something so astounding on his own accord. It was utterly incredible.

"Cas?"

Castiel let his eyes refocus on his surroundings. "Y-yes?"

"You alright? You're lookin' at me kinda weirdly."

Castiel couldn't help but blush at the remark. "I'm fine - and I apologise," he said, averting his eyes and staring at the orb of light that flickered a little, dimming in brightness for a split second.

"I never said it was bad, I just wanted to know if you were okay," Dean added, rubbing his thumb over Castiel's wrist, drawing small circles with the motion. It was relatively soothing and he found himself inclined to meet Dean's stare again. The man's lips twitched and Castiel's eyes were drawn to the line of dried blood that ran from the left corner. He frowned, reminded of the fact that Dean had been hurt because of him.

"Hold still, Dean," he said blankly, removing his hand from the man's chest to cradle Dean's jaw, tilting the man's face toward him softly. He let go of the blade and brought his free hand up to his own mouth, licking the pad of his thumb. Ever so gently, he swiped it over the trace, wiping the blood away with a few gradual movements. "I'm sorry about earlier," he breathed, eyes darting up to meet Dean's again briefly, "I didn't think that I would ever draw attention to myself, let alone you."

Dean exhaled heavily, eyes lidded and dark. "All you ever do is apologise, man. Stop getting so worked up over nothing."

"N-nothing?" Castiel cried, sitting up abruptly. "You were attacked by a _demon!_ She could have killed you!"

The other man smiled, amused. "Nah, you wouldn't have let that happen. And you didn't, for that matter."

Castiel couldn't understand why Dean looked so satisfied. He was most likely still in pain. "Oh!" He muttered, dragging his palm down Dean's neck and over his muscular chest to continue healing Dean's injured ribs. The man made a peculiar noise; a low moan that stirred up a pleasant excitement in Castiel's abdomen.

"Is everything okay, Dean?"

"Peachy," his companion mumbled in response, skin becoming considerably warmer beneath Castiel's hand.

Castiel gripped the silver weapon close to his chest as he splayed out the fingers of his other hand, letting the digits fumble over the smooth skin in an attempt to find the most sensitive area. Dean shivered a little, hair standing on end.

Foolishly, they were lain atop the comforter, so there was no real way he could ensure Dean's warmth. Castiel sidled closer, head narrowly avoiding the man's injured shoulder. He could see Dean's soul in greater detail from a smaller range: the familiar yellows twining in with the pink hue.

Yellow meant happiness, that much he knew. He had monitored the level ever since Dean was a child, but he still found himself intrigued by the pink. He had never been told much about the other colours, other than the obvious _blue is for sadness_ because that was another important sentiment he needed to monitor. And then there was anger: a harsh, blood red that was the most prominent of all the colours. He had seen Dean glow red a few times. The time their father abandoned both Winchester boys, and when Castiel had announced his prior state of affairs in addition to the few arguments they’d had.

"How do you feel right now?" Castiel asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He wanted to at least try and figure out what the pink represented.

"Well, nothing hurts anymore, so I guess I'm okay," Dean said cheerfully.

Castiel pouted. "What about emotionally? I know that you're happy, but the other emotions are difficult to understand."

"Wait a second. You can sense how I'm _feeling_?"

"Strictly speaking, I can see how you're feeling," Castiel smirked as Dean's soul become a little bit brighter. "But other than happiness, the rest is a little confusing."

Dean, despite having an injured shoulder, slid his arm beneath Castiel's neck and ran his fingers along Castiel's back tenderly. "What can you see?" He murmured.

"Your soul is very beautiful," Castiel whispered quietly, and he couldn't help but laugh when another burst of colour shone profoundly from the light. "And now it’s very pink."

The man chuckled softly in response, hand massaging Castiel's spine with a series of gentle movement. Castiel could feel himself relaxing into the touch, smiling. It felt nice.

"Sounds a bit girly if you ask me," Dean said.

"I don't think so," Castiel argued, pressing that tiny bit closer to Dean's body, "It represents your emotions. For example, here," he moved his hand over Dean's solar plexus, using his index finger to point at the assortment of colours. "There's a lot of yellow. That’s your level of happiness."

He knew that Dean wouldn't be able to see it himself, but he deserved to know just how handsome it looked.

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve been able to see how I’ve been feeling this whole time we’ve been together?” Dean groaned, repeating the affectionate touch. “That’s not fair.”

Castiel laughed, bringing his palm up to rest on Dean’s shoulder, since both the man’s ribs and lung tissue had been fully healed. “I can’t help it.”

Dean exhaled heavily, “Is that all the time? Like, regardless of whether you have the sword thing or not?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied simply, massaging Dean’s skin gently with his fingertips as the energy coursed through the other man.

“Isn’t that kinda like mind reading then?”

Castiel smirked. “I’m glad it’s not. You’re confusing at the best of times, Dean, but I wouldn’t go as far as to rummage through your thoughts. I know you’ve permitted it in the past, but I’m concerned that if I were to do it without your permission I’d find something that I’d rather not see.”

Dean started chuckling softly. “You think that I’m obsessed with sex or something.”

“Well,” Castiel announced, blushing furiously at the mere thought of finding such a thing in Dean’s mind. “It is a possibility.”

Dean laughed. “You honestly believe that’s all I think about? It’s what _you_ think about, isn’t it? All the girls you could get with.”

Castiel snorted with laughter, feeling the heat creep down his chest. “First of all, as I’ve told you before, I am not interested in finding a partner – and what is it with your assumption of me choosing a female partner should that be the case?”

He wasn’t willing to admit that also, by finding himself a partner, he wouldn’t be able to take care of Dean.

Dean’s happiness would always come first.

“What? So you’re bisexual or something? I thought God was against that whole ‘man laying with another man’ thing?”

“Technically, I’m not a man – but no. Love is love,” Castiel said, surprised. “Who told you otherwise?”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “Church and the Bible and stuff.”

“Don’t listen to it then, Dean. I know of many angelic bonds between two angels of the same sex in Heaven, and not once has any form of complaint been issued.”

It was appalling that people thought it right to convey such a message. Everyone deserved to be with the one they love.

Of course, angels did not possess the sentiment of ‘love’ for anyone other than God, but their bonds were that of utter loyalty and admiration. And, of course, because they found each other’s Grace and personality to be appealing.

Castiel felt the damage in Dean’s shoulder fully repair, cells forming stronger and healthier tissue. “Dean, may you roll over to face me for a minute.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbled, shifting onto his side and meeting Castiel’s gaze again owing to the slight distance between their faces.

Castiel pulled his hand away from Dean’s shoulder to carefully place it on the back of Dean’s head. He watched Dean’s soul glow incredibly bright, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What?” Dean blurted, heat emitting from his pink cheeks.

“Nothing, Dean,” Castiel said, dragging his fingers through the short hairs smoothly to soothe the affected area. It felt strange, lying in such a position with his friend, albeit oddly comforting.

Dean was warm, and relatively comfortable to rest against now that he'd relaxed. Castiel had to admit that he liked the feeling of them being so close. It was unusual, sharing such a profound bond with the man. It was very uncommon for an angel to develop any form of relationship with a human – but now, Castiel couldn't imagine a life without Dean's friendship. He did not think of the man _romantically_ like his fellow angels had insisted upon many times before, but he definitely felt a stronger attachment through their connection.

“I think you’re fully healed now, Dean,” Castiel smiled, feeling Dean’s breath ghost over his lips. “You should be okay.” He ran his hand down the man’s neck, only to drag it onto Dean’s chest once more. He covered the pink tainted light, watching it shine through his fingers prettily,

"Cas, can I ask you something?"

"Of course,” he hummed in response, pressing his palm firmly against Dean’s solar plexus in an attempt to blot out the light. It exuded around his hand, bright as ever.

"Do you miss Heaven?"

Castiel shook his head against Dean's arm. "I prefer being here with you."

The orb in Dean's chest grew almost painfully intense, sending a jolt of pleasure through Castiel's body from where his hand rested over it. He cried out in delight as he pushed firmly against Dean’s taut skin, enjoyment crowding his senses. Castiel leant forward, resting his head over his hand in an attempt to make the feeling last.

"What the hell was that all about, dude?" The man snorted with laughter, chest fluctuating beneath Castiel's touch with irregular breaths. “Sounded like you were having an orgasm.”

Castiel grinned shyly, lifting his head so that he could meet Dean's gaze. "Your soul felt ... nice."

Dean continued to laugh, hand concealing his mouth so that it wasn't too loud. Castiel had completely forgotten that Sam was probably trying to sleep just a few doors down.

“You’re so strange,” Dean mumbled, breath sweeping over Castiel’s forehead.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No.”

Castiel ducked his head, burying it beneath Dean’s chin. Dean didn’t seem to have a problem with their situation, and if he didn't think it inappropriate, then surely it wasn't. Castiel trusted the man.

But he also knew that they couldn’t stay this way for long. Dean needed to rest, and it wasn’t particularly helpful for Castiel to make the man sleep in such an awkward position.

“I’ll stay in the living room tonight,” Castiel hummed, scraping his nails across Dean’s skin lightly.

His companion groaned, somewhat annoyed. “No. I’m fine now. I can sleep in there.”

Dean sat up, squeezing Castiel’s hand lightly before letting go. Castiel immediately missed the warmth of Dean’s flesh.

“Dean –“

“Look, you’ve done enough to help me, so I’m not letting you sleep on that piece of crap,” the man grumbled, flinging his legs over the side of the bed to stand.

“T-then stay here with me,” Castiel blurted, before realising how utterly desperate he sounded. “There’s more than enough room. It’s not fair on you otherwise,” he added, staring up to meet Dean’s gaze. The man’s features were soft; eyes bemused and an indistinct smile playing on his lips. Castiel could feel his throat thicken as he pulled his knees up to his chest, glancing away.

Dean laughed favourably, sitting back down on the mattress and carding a hand through his hair. “Dude, if I find out this is just so you can get off on my soul or something, I’m gonna fucking punch you.”

Castiel blushed, pressing his face against his knee caps. “I didn’t know it would happen. I’m sorry.”

The man sighed, shaking his head as he begun to undo the fastener on his jeans. He stood up briefly to slide them down, exposing his slightly bowed legs. “Do you want a clean shirt to wear, or are you sleeping in the one you’ve got on?” Dean asked, stepping out of the fabric and striding over to the chest of drawers.

“Oh – I’m fine in this one, thank you Dean,” Castiel said, reaching down to slip off his own shoes and socks, dropping them on the floor along with his blade. He outstretched his legs, to undo the button on his jeans, pushing the loose denim down his legs and kicking them off completely.

He felt rather vulnerable, laying in what was almost the bare minimum of clothing, although it was reassuring that Dean didn’t seem to mind how much or how little they were wearing.

Castiel sat up slowly, shifting back on the bedspread to dig his legs beneath the comforter. The sheets were soft and gentle against his skin, as per usual, delicately moulding to drape over his form. He watched Dean pull on a light blue shirt, muscles flexing as the material was drawn down over his well toned abdomen.

There was no point denying that Dean was an attractive young man. It was actually quite surprising that he didn't have a partner of any kind, given his appealing looks and wonderful personality. The human had engaged in copious relationships, yet none of said relationships lasted longer than a few weeks, excluding one young woman named Cassie whom Dean had appeared relatively smitten with. They lasted the longest as a couple: an impressive eight months and twenty two days. That was whilst the man was still in high school of course, just before he was led astray.

Dean turned off the light on his way back across the room, feet padding softly against the carpeted floor, glancing out of the window as he approached. “I honestly can’t wait until I graduate.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, laying back against the pillows and dragging the comforter up to his chin.

“Well,” Dean began quietly as he pulled back the thick blanket to clamber in beside him. “It means I won’t have to work such ridiculous hours – and I could spend more time with you and Sammy.”

“You want to spend more time with _me?_ ” Castiel pressed, amused. They spent a lot of time together as it was – more often than not they were together. He understood why Dean would want to spend more time with his younger brother, but not in terms of himself.

“Yeah. You’re awesome – and I think of you as like my best friend, y’know?” Dean babbled.

Castiel had been unaware that Dean ranked him so highly in terms of friendship. He’d never really had a friend before – save for the few angels he’d spent time with before his wings were unsheathed, but even then they weren’t particularly close.

“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you should think that. You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend.”

“That why you’re so socially retarded?” Dean chuckled softly as he lay down, thigh brushing Castiel’s own very delicately.

“S-sorry?” Castiel choked out, although he knew exactly what Dean had meant. He had merely hoped that his discomfort around humans wasn’t terribly noticeable.

“You barely ever talk about yourself – and you barely ever kick-start a conversation. When I first met you, you had next to no clue about personal space – not that that’s changed – and you’re still incredibly quiet,” Dean said, poking him in the ribs. “I do trust you, dude. I’m not gonna freak out when you decide to open up to me a little more.”

Castiel turned onto his side to face the man, despite the fact that the darkness had worsened his vision. “I’m still not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet. I’ve experienced a lot, Dean.”

“Well ... just talk – about anything. It doesn’t have to be about your history or whatever,” Dean smiled faintly.

“You want me to talk _now_?”

“If you’re not too tired,” the man replied, rolling over to meet Castiel’s gaze. Castiel just kept staring, reluctant to talk about ‘anything’ in fear of saying something distasteful. Human’s had a peculiar sense of humour.

“I can wait,” Dean mumbled finally, reaching out to push the dark hair from Castiel’s eyes, smoothing it down on top of his head.

Castiel continued to watch the man, admiring Dean’s calm features. He felt his eyelids become heavier as time went by, Dean perpetually rubbing the top of Castiel’s head soothingly. He couldn’t help but succumb to the weariness that had crept up on him slowly, closing his eyes and wriggling forward to press himself against the other man for heat. Dean gently draped an arm over his shoulders, continuing the appeasing movement on Castiel's upper back.

“Thank you, Dean,” he whispered, nuzzling his face against the pink tainted light in the human’s chest.

Dean just hummed quietly; a relaxing song that was somewhat familiar, however Castiel couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before ...

 


	6. Afraid to Behave in a Way That Would Leave Me Scarred

 

I only pray at night when the world disappears  
Put away and out of sight, I confront my fears  
I am proud, I am strong, I’m endowed just as long  
As it’s light, I only pray  
At night

_John Fullbright_

 

 

"What do you mean you've never seen a Disney film?!"

"Jesus. Leave the poor guy alone, Sam!"

"You've got to have at least seen Cinderella or something?" Sam rambled, fumbling through a stack of old videos.

"I never had the time to watch television, or the like," Castiel said, sipping at the coffee Dean had been kind enough to provide him with.

The younger Winchester looked vaguely concerned. "Dean, I think you may be dating an Amish."

"For the last fucking time - we are _not_ dating!" Dean exploded, a dark blush colouring his cheeks. Castiel smirked against the rim of his mug, lips clamping against the china to make it less obvious. Sam questioned Dean's feelings for Castiel often, seemingly regardless of whether Castiel was out of the room or not. Their quarrels were fairly amusing, especially seeing as the boy knew 'what buttons to press', as Dean would say.

Sam giggled mischievously, drawing out a bright coloured, video case from the pile. "Hey, Cas, do you want to watch The Little Mermaid?"

Dean made a rather unpleasant noise at the suggestion, dropping his face into his palms as he remained seated beside Castiel. "Kill me now."

Since Dean's soul showed no signs of real upset, he ignored the request – not that he would have ended the man’s life anyway. "What's it about?" Castiel asked after another mouthful of coffee.

"A mermaid," Dean deadpanned from his slouched position. Sam shot his older brother an incredulous look, before turning his attention to Castiel. "It’s really good!" The boy chirped. "I don't wanna ruin it for you, but basically this mermaid Ariel is, like, in love with a prince -"

"She's not 'like' in love, she _is_ in love with him - otherwise she wouldn't have gone through so much shit in the first place!" Dean corrected his brother, lifting his head back up to make his point heard.

Sam pulled an expression that met both a scowl and a pout halfway, breaking open the video case and pushing the tape into a peculiar machine. "Whatever, Dean."

They were a strange pair; ever so close but the number of arguments they engaged in each week was ridiculous. The amount of times he'd heard Dean complain about the boy was ever increasing, yet he could go on praising Sam for hours afterwards, almost like they'd never even had a fight.

"Move," Sam demanded, hitting Dean with the remote control lightly as the TV screen flashed blue.

"What?" Dean cried. "Why?"

Sam just sighed heavily, pulling an expression similar to the one before. "Because you're taking up all the space and I actually want to sit on the couch for once."

The other man grumbled, shifting closer to Castiel until their thighs and forearms were pressed together. In all honesty, they didn't need to be that close, but it was still rather comforting. Sam sprawled out across an entire cushion, pressing his feet against Dean's hip to push the man further against Castiel's side. "For fuck's sake, Sam - stop it!"

The younger boy laughed, tipping his head back to lean against the arm rest.

"It’s alright, Dean," Castiel whispered calmly. "I'm not uncomfortable."

"Are you sure, buddy? I mean, I can get him to ease up a little?" Dean said. Castiel doubted that was true. Sam had the upper hand because of his tall stature.

"I'm fine."

The older Winchester began to wriggle a little, flinging his right arm over the back of the sofa to free space, and Castiel found himself inclined to lean his cheek ever so slightly against the man's shoulder. Dean looked shocked, to say the least, but he drew his arm closer all the same, brushing his fingers over Castiel's neck.

"And you say you don't like him," Sam commented quietly. Dean ignored the boy, continuing the gentle motion against Castiel's skin. Castiel liked it when Dean was being affectionate, and this kind of contact was ever so soothing. The man was looking down at him with kind eyes and a trace of a smile; an expression that sent a bout of warmth rolling through his chest. Castiel beamed at Dean, catching the yellow and pink light out of the corner of his eye.

Sam giggled. "Guys, in case you haven't noticed, the film's started now."

Castiel ripped his eyes away to feed his curiosity, examining the glowing image presented on the TV. A red haired girl, with a scaled tail where her human legs should be, swam across the screen with a yellow fish in tow. It was confusing at first, the initial concept that such a creature could speak, but Sam had told him earlier that these films were created with children in mind and that they liked this sort of thing. Personally, he didn't see the appeal in an assortment of singing sea creatures. He actually thought it ridiculous that they should imply that animals could communicate to both humans and whatever horrible mutated beings these 'mermaids' were.

The plot, however, was very similar to Castiel's situation at hand, although unlike Ariel, he had given up his old life to aid Dean and not for the hope of some romantic relationship. He also lacked a series of those musical companions, and a fetish for cutlery.

But overall, he wasn’t too fond of the cartoon.

Around the midway point he turned his attention back to the man beside him, thrilled to find Dean staring right back. Castiel pressed closer to Dean’s side, looking up at him and smiling. Dean was far more interesting than some animated film.

The man pressed his mouth to the shell of Castiel’s ear lightly, telling him just how the story ends. Castiel could have foretold such an ending himself, but he didn’t understand why that was considered the end of the tale overall. Surely the couple would go on to start a family ... although their children may be cursed with some sort of deformity, what with the mother being half fish and all. Not only that, but wouldn’t the characters also have to die at some point?

Why end the story when they had barely experienced life itself?

“Most Disney films are very cliché,” Dean whispered, lips brushing his skin delicately. “The hero gets the girl, something unfortunate happens to the villain – it always ends pretty happy.”

“But why?” Castiel asked softly, turning his head a little to meet Dean’s gaze. “If that rarely happens in reality?”

Castiel could see the smile in Dean’s eyes as the man came up with an answer. “Because it’s what people want themselves. They want a successful relationship, not one where some evil bitch comes along to poison them or whatever. If you wanted a partner, isn’t that what you’d want? A perfect relationship where nothing could ever go wrong after some weird-ass problem is conquered?”

“Is that what _you_ want, Dean?” Castiel turned his body a little so their torso’s were facing each other. “A fantasy relationship?”

The man shrugged, glancing back at the television. “I can dream if I want to.”

 

*

 

"So, what did you think?" Sam queried as the credits rolled up on the screen.

"I can understand why Dean dislikes this movie," he mumbled, causing Dean to burst into a bout of laughter. The hand on Castiel's neck dropped a little below the hem of his shirt, thumb running along his collar bone repeatedly. Castiel raised his own hand, trailing it over Dean's wrist, fingers carefully caressing the tanned skin. He watched the hairs on Dean's arms begin to stand on end. "But thank you for showing it to me all the same."

"Well that sucks," Sam groaned, rising up from the settee and taking out his cell phone. "Oh. Okay, well I'm gonna go now - I said I’d be at Andy's for six."

"Alright dude. Take your keys cos' we might be out tomorrow," Dean reminded the boy as Sam walked to the doorway, grabbing a rucksack from the floor.

"I've got them already," Sam said from the hall, twisting the latch on the front door. "Bye guys!"

"Goodbye, Sam," Castiel called sheepishly, just moments before the door closed behind him.

Dean withdrew his hand slowly, dragging his fingers over Castiel’s jugular before the touch disappeared completely. “I’m gonna make some more coffee, okay?”

The man rose from the settee, taking the mug gently from Castiel’s hand, before walking through to the hallway. Castiel decidedly followed, since he preferred to be in Dean’s company than to remain on his own.

 

*

 

The angel opened up considerably more to Dean when they were alone together, and although it wasn’t actually about his past, what he talked about was relatively interesting. He went on about the different places in Heaven more than anything else: some tree that collected their Grace when they died – and then that other one that Eve took the forbidden fruit from or something.

Dean didn’t really care for the whole Adam and Eve story, what with it being so similar to that Disney crap in terms of the talking snake.

Okay, so maybe the snake was meant to be the devil or whatever, but it was still pretty dumb.

"Does time pass differently in Heaven, or is it like here on earth in terms of different time zones and stuff?" Dean asked, pouring them both a cup of coffee by the sink.

"Time doesn't really affect Heaven. We don’t have night or day, it’s just the same. But, of course, every soul creates a different Heaven that consists of different memories, so depending on the memory of choice, time does have some importance. Observing earth, in comparison, could be rather dull for the most part."

"What about when you were watching over me?" Dean smiled back over his shoulder at the other man.

Castiel blushed lightly. "That depended on what you were doing. Sometimes I couldn’t watch you at all because of the activities you participated in to pass the time ..."

Dean grinned stirring the dark liquid in the mugs. "You mean sex, right?"

"Y-yes," Castiel muttered. "To watch would have been incredibly improper and iniquitous.”

Cas’ use of bizarre vocabulary stalled him for a moment, but Dean was keen to pursue the topic. "So you've seen me naked then?"

He turned around to face the angel completely, smirking as he leant back against the damp surface.

"D-Dean, do we have to talk about this," Cas huffed, face going even darker.

"You have, haven't you?" Dean laughed, feigning surprise. Of course he had! It was inevitable. "You're a perv, Cas! I'm shocked!"

Castiel scowled, glancing away to stare at the floor. "I’m sorry, Dean."

Dean grinned, ducking his head a little to try and catch the angel’s gaze as he walked over to hand him one of the mugs. “Don’t apologise. It was your job to look out for me and stuff. At least I know you were doing it properly.” 

Castiel reached out carefully and their fingers overlapped as he took the steaming cup from Dean’s hand. Cas smiled very slightly, despite his embarrassment, his eyes darting up to meet Dean’s for a brief moment.

Dean took that as some sort of shy ‘thank you’, so he drew his hand away slowly, knocking the angel on the chin with his knuckles before heading toward the fridge and opening it wide. They didn’t really have much meal-wise, but he could always take out a couple of frozen dinners to defrost for later.

“You okay with having pizza for dinner, Cas?” He called over his shoulder, shutting the barren appliance and swallowing a mouthful of coffee. He really should be cutting down on how much he’d been drinking in terms of caffeine, but that was something he could sort out another day. Last night hadn’t exactly been the best night’s sleep he’d ever had, even if he had gotten to sleep with the angel beside him again.

That was also something he needed to avoid. As great as it was to wake up to Castiel snoring softly in his arms, his soft hands having worked their way beneath Dean’s shirt at some point during the night ... well yeah, as great as it was, it wasn’t something he should have given into so easily in the first place. Since he was pushing it enough through the way they interacted normally, he knew he shouldn’t really spend the night with Cas again.

Unless, of course, he and Cas actually became involved, but that was pretty much never going to happen – even if Cas had mentioned the whole being ‘bi’ thing, he still wasn’t interested in a relationship beyond friendship with anyone.

“Of course I’m fine with it, Dean," Castiel replied softly as he headed down the corridor. Dean watched him go, smirking when Castiel’s pants dropped lower on his hips. He loved it when Cas wore the dark sweats – they were basically the angel’s favourite thing to dress himself in, and they’d definitely made an impression on Dean. He’d never really liked them himself, only for the whole comfort aspect, but he still wore his jeans regardless. There was no way he was taking them back now, though, even if he did want to wear them again.

Dean followed when the angel turned to go up the stairs, not wanting to be without Castiel’s company for too long.

He had to admit, he’d never thought he’d get _this_ fucking attached to the guy. It kind of scared him actually: how much he depended upon Cas for company. He’d thought about it before, and even with his previous partners he’d never wanted to spend this much time with them. Sure, he’d liked being around them and stuff, but it wasn’t like this.

He felt compelled to be around Cas whenever he could, and when Cas wasn’t with him, it just didn’t feel right.

Dean really needed to get his shit together. He’d known the guy a little over a week, and it was like he was fucking _smitten_!

He stood in the doorway to his bedroom, watching Castiel hide beneath the comforter on the bed, using the heavy blanket as a tent.

It was weird how childish Cas appeared unintentionally, despite being thousands of years old or whatever.

He still hadn’t asked about Cas’ age – not that it actually mattered or anything, but surely that was something the angel would be okay with sharing, right?

"Do you act this cute on purpose, or is that all just part of your natural charm," Dean teased, running his finger over the handle of his mug nervously.

"Not cute," came the muffled response, material shifting slightly.

Dean walked over to the bed, kneeling in front of the mounded blanket that surrounded Castiel to lift the hem slightly so he could peer up at the angel’s face. Cas’ lips were hidden behind the rim of his mug as he tilted it a little, taking another mouthful of his drink before lowering it and smiling down at Dean with a fondness he hadn’t seen in a while.

“May I ask you a question, Dean?” Castiel chirped, tapping his fingers against the side of the ceramic cup. “What with you asking me such inequitable questions before?”

Dean narrowed his eyes a little as he tried to understand what Cas meant by that. He hadn’t heard of the word ‘inequitable’ before, so he wasn’t entirely sure what Cas was trying to say, but he figured it would mean something like awkward since it was in relation to the questions he’d asked. It would only be fair if he let Cas ask him something in return.

He nodded, downing the rest of his own coffee.

"You haven't had much success with your relationships, have you?"

Of all the fucking things Cas could ask ...

"No. I haven't," he sighed.

"Would you be happier if I found you a partner? Your soul's been rather peculiar these past few days," Cas mumbled softly, brushing his fingertips over Dean’s forehead.

"Nah, I just haven't been feeling myself lately. I don't need anyone else when I've got you anyway," Dean said, winking at the angel subtly.

"But we've not been engaging in sexual intercourse. I don't quite understand what you mean."

Dean laughed. "Not everyone needs to date someone to be happy. I could be single for the rest of my life and still be the happiest man alive."

"Being alone would actually make you happy?" Castiel asked, withdrawing his hand to support the base of his mug.

"Not really - I would still wanna spend time with family and stuff," he stopped for a second, "I wish you'd stop turning every conversation we have into one about my happiness."

"My apologies," the angel smirked, sliding off the mattress to sit beside him. "I'm merely making sure everything is alright."

"Thanks for caring so much, dude," Dean grinned back, watching the angel's features soften and become even kinder. Cas was continually checking up on him, and Dean didn’t really understand how the guy managed to stay so committed.

He reached behind them, drawing the abandoned comforter around their shoulders as they settled back against the edge of the bedspread. Castiel shuffled closer, pulling Dean’s corner toward the centre to keep them wrapped up.

“Can I ask you something now, Cas?”

The angel hummed. “So long as it doesn’t revolve around the topic of your naked form.”

“No, asshole,” Dean snorted with laughter, cradling his empty mug close to his chest. “I was gonna ask how old you are – like, in angel years or however you count it.”

 “I’m four-hundred and thirteen,” Castiel replied, a slightly whimsical air to his response.

Well, that was kind of younger than Dean had expected ... but four-hundred was still pretty old compared to a human lifespan. “So what’s that in human years then?”

“If I go by the average life expectancy in America ... I think I would be considered to be thirty-one, at least.”

That didn’t make their age difference seem too bad at all – but then again, nine years was definitely more agreeable than three-hundred and ... and ninety? Ninety-one?

Dean wasn’t really good at doing the whole calculating thing in his head, no matter how high his Calculus grade was at high school.

“When I first met you, I thought you were like, twenty or something,” Dean smirked. “You look really young for four-hundred.”

The angel laughed softly, nudging Dean with his elbow as he went to take another mouthful of coffee. “Thank you, Dean. Is ‘twenty’ the age you think I should go by whilst I’m staying with you?”

“Well, it’s a little more believable than four-hundred and thirteen, dude, so yeah. Pretty much.”

It became a little quieter after that, Castiel resting slightly against his shoulder as they just sat there, Cas still drinking his coffee. The quiet wasn’t even unsettling; it was nice, and relaxed, and if Dean didn’t have coffee in his system, he would more than happily fall asleep right where they were sitting.

He knew it was selfish, but for once he was glad he didn’t have to worry about Sam walking in and mocking them for how they had chosen to sit together. He loved the kid, but Sam just needed to leave it be. It was embarrassing – more so since he knew Cas would freak if he actually found out. That would be their friendship screwed forever.

He didn’t want that. He wanted Cas to stay with him for at least a little while longer without any kind of blip or problem.

At least until Christmas.

"Oh fuck! I was meant to ask you this before," Dean muttered, twisting himself around to face his companion completely. “Christmas. What do you want for Christmas?"

Time had crept by slowly, but the winter holiday was only a little over a month away. He'd already bought Sam a bunch of video games and books and stuff, but Cas would be much harder to buy for. He didn't seem to like anything in particular. _That’s_ where knowing more about the guy’s likes and dislikes would’ve come in handy, unless he just wanted Dean to go around smiling for the whole day.

It actually wouldn’t differ from any other day, in all honesty. He’d definitely started smiling a lot more with the angel around to keep him company, even with Gordon insulting him for the two days he’d taken Cas with him to class.

Okay, so maybe it had only been a week, but it was like Dean couldn’t even bring himself to care if Gordon threw a couple of homophobic names his way.

When the asshole insulted Cas on Wednesday, however, Dean did not let that slide. Castiel had been through way too much to be insulted for his regular appearance – especially when he was so fucking attractive.

How the hell could someone like _Gordon_ criticize Cas on appearances?

Long story short, for once in Dean’s life, he’d kick-started that fight, and sure, maybe Cas had been pissed at him afterwards for ‘putting himself in danger’, but at least he didn’t have to worry about that wanker any more.

Even when Dean had gone to class alone on the Thursday, Gordon hadn’t approached him. The guy had pretty much just walked past without even batting a fucking eye ... well, his eye was pretty darn swollen from where Dean’s fist had connected with his face, but that was about it.

He honestly didn’t know why he hadn’t really stood up to the guy sooner. If he’d have known it would have been that easy all along, he would have done it earlier on in the year.

"I just want you t -"

"Other than my happiness, dude!" Dean interjected hurriedly, leaning across the angel to place his empty coffee mug on his bedside table.

Castiel pouted as he tried to think. Dean hated being put in this position himself, especially when he genuinely didn't want anything. Just knowing people cared about him was enough.

"I don't want anything else, Dean," Castiel shrugged finally, rotating his mug to watch the liquid swill around inside. "What do _you_ want?"

 _You; naked, in my fucking bed_. "Nothing, I guess. I already have everything I want."

Castiel looked up at him; head tilted slightly. "That didn't produce a very elaborate conversation, did it?"

"I guess not," Dean chuckled softly. "But if you think of something, let me know, okay?"

The angel sighed, sidling closer and dropping his head on Dean's shoulder. “Okay.”

Sometimes, Castiel's naivety was just an added bonus, but it wasn’t like Dean was taking advantage of the guy in situations like this, so it was okay, right?

He tenderly rested his own head atop Castiel's, closing his eyes. Cas was breathing deeply, though Dean knew the guy couldn't possibly be asleep. He decided to relax fully against the angel, turning his torso so that he could fling an arm around Castiel's shoulders, rubbing the guy's upper arms gently.

"Wow. You two look pretty cosy."

Dean's eyes snapped open abruptly to see a man standing in the corner of his bedroom, golden eyes and golden hair catching his eye. And then he saw the wings: glorious and bright feathers that matched his hair, wing-tips resting lazily against the carpeted floor.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dean shouted, clutching Castiel closer to his side. He was more angry than anything else, having someone spying on them.

"Real catch you got here, Cassie," the guy laughed, strutting over to sit beside Dean on the floor. The wings splayed out, casting dark shadows across the room.

Dean just watched in horror as this new angel took out a Hershey's bar and began to unwrap it – like it was the most ordinary fucking situation in the world.

"Dean, this is Gabriel," Cas mumbled, adjusting the position of his head slightly to smile at the other angel. “And you know Dean already, so this customary introduction isn’t really required.”

"Wait a sec! You're Gabriel? Like _the_ angel Gabriel?" Dean cried in amusement, taking in how small the angel appeared in comparison to himself.

" _Archangel_ Gabriel, thankyouverymuch," the golden haired man said around a mouthful of chocolate. "You're takin' good care of Castiel, I see."

"Oh. Uhhh," Dean floundered, blushing furiously. This guy seemed more human than Cas was – ironically – so he probably knew that Dean had been taking Castiel’s naivety for granted.

Castiel tensed very quickly, fingers twisting into the fabric of Dean's shirt to draw their bodies closer. "You ... you received my prayer, I assume."

There was a touch of sadness to Castiel's voice, and Dean looked down at the angel, coiled beneath his arm. He rubbed Cas' bicep carefully in an attempt to put him more at ease, although he wasn't sure why Cas was getting all agitated in the first place. Surely he'd be happy to see someone he actually knew for once ... unless this guy was a total dick and took the piss out of him like that fucker Uriel.

"Yeah. I gotta say, Castiel, you got balls doing that after being told not to for eight friggin' years," Gabriel grinned, leaning back against the wall fully, unfolding his wings again like it was totally normal to just throw them wherever. Well, in Heaven it probably was normal, but this was Dean's room. He could decide what was weird or not.

"What did you do, Cas?" Dean asked softly, nudging the angel with his hip.

There was a pause, a silence (other the irritating rustle of Gabriel and his fucking _chocolate bars_ ) that lasted a little longer than a minute. "I used my Grace to make you a slightly happier. You were ... you were angry with me at the time, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I just ... I didn't want you to worry about me any more."

"Yeah, well I'm pretty fucking worried now if that's what you prayed to him about!"

"Oh, don't be," Gabriel chimed, throwing the balled up chocolate wrapper at the side of Dean's head. Dean just turned and glared at him, annoyed that this douchebag thought he could do whatever he wanted. "Michael and I had a word with Raphael. He isn’t gonna force you to come back or anything ... he was actually kinda pleased you’d stopped bothering him with your little proposal, so he doesn’t really give a shit anymore."

"R-really?" Castiel cried, pushing away from Dean's ribs to face the archangel fully. "I don't ever have to go back?"

"Nope."

Dean felt the arms twine around his neck and he was knocked sideways as Castiel climbed on top of him, smiling that adorable fucking smile whilst he pressed their temples together. "Can I stay, Dean? Permanently?"

Dean just laughed, feeling the warmth on his face when Castiel nosed at his cheek. "I’ve told you before, dude! You're welcome to stay as long as you want."

Castiel made this satisfied little noise before drawing back into a sitting position, placing both hands on Dean's chest and scratching at the fabric with his blunt nails. "Good."

Gabriel coughed beside them and Dean glanced over, tilting his head back to view the archangel, even if it was upside down. "Now, about those headaches, Castiel ..."

Dean suddenly felt a sinking in his chest and he looked up at Cas to see a rather dark expression on his features.

"I don’t know exactly what it is causing you that amount of pain, but I can block it temporarily if you want?"

Castiel tilted his head to the left. “Can you not get rid of it altogether?”

"No, I ...” the archangel scratched the back of his neck. He looked kind of perplexed ... or sad. Pretty much a cross between the two. “I’ve not heard of anything like this, and even Rachel didn’t suffer from a headache or anything of the sort so ... I mean, I can check up on you every two weeks or something – to make sure you don’t have any more, if you want?”

"Yes, please," Castiel sighed somewhat desolately, looking down at Dean again. "Would that be okay with you, Dean?"

Dean twined their hands together, rubbing the angel's skin with his thumbs. “Of course it’s okay. You won’t suffer anymore, so you’ll be happier, right?”

Castiel looked a little surprised before that familiar pink touched at his cheeks, and he glanced away, almost like he was suppressing a smile. “You don’t have to worry about my happiness. It’s not your job.”

“ _Strictly speaking,_ ” Gabriel interrupted, snapping his fingers to make yet another fucking chocolate bar appear. “It’s not your job to keep Dean happy either, Castiel.”

“Hah!” Dean grinned, squeezing Castiel’s hands. “Looks like I _can_ worry about your happiness if I want to after all.”

Castiel’s eyes met his once more, those blue eyes slightly watery, but he _was_ smiling, and Dean couldn’t even begin to explain how glorious that made him feel.

Maybe he couldn’t make Cas happier with a bunch of fancy angelic powers, but figured he was doing pretty well without them so far!

He hoped Cas was happy anyway. There was part of him that wished he could see Cas’ Grace just like Cas could see his soul – if Castiel’s Grace gave off the whole impression of emotions and stuff, that is. The angel had said before that his feathers had the colour of his Grace, and from what Dean had seen in those visiony things, Castiel’s Grace was blue – like his eyes.

And Gabriel’s was this awesome gold colour, but that was because he was an ‘archangel’ or whatever. Dean didn’t really understand that – like, was that some sort of ranking?

Well, Gabriel was a pretty well known angel, and he’d been around in the bible and stuff since the very beginning with the whole Virgin Mary ordeal.

Man, he must be _ancient!_

Suddenly Dean found himself being hauled up as Castiel pulled at his hands to bring their chests together. Dean wriggled a little, shuffling around so that he was seated in his original position against the bedspread, just obviously, this time Castiel was sitting on top of him. He saw Gabriel shift closer, reaching out a hand to touch Castiel's temple. Dean shouldn't have felt so overprotective, but _fuck_ \- he was so used to having pretty much no one else interact with Castiel, let alone touch him - this was just weird.

He simply watched, observing the troubled expression cross Gabriel’s features as he fixed Cas’ head or whatever. It wasn’t exactly the most reassuring facial expression he’d ever seen, but that was probably because this was something foreign – something Gabriel hadn’t tried to heal before.

It made Dean feel kind of uncomfortable, because he wanted Cas to be completely fine. The thought of Cas having to suffer for the rest of his life as a human because of this one abnormality was scary, and he didn’t want to see Cas cry again – he didn’t want to see the angel get hurt, and he didn’t want to be the cause for such an issue in the first place.

He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to the crook of Castiel’s neck, letting go of Cas’ hands to link his arms around the angel’s trembling body.

It couldn’t be easy for Cas, knowing that he had something that he couldn’t actually be cured of. _That_ was what hurt Dean most of all: knowing that Cas would probably still be more concerned about Dean’s wellbeing than his own when this shit would never actually leave Cas alone.

Dean had already noticed how much happier Cas made him, so he _was_ being helped and he would probably get better, no matter how much he’d doubted it before. He could _sense_ the change, and Cas had even told him that his soul showed blatant signs of happiness.

But Dean couldn’t be happy if Cas was constantly hurting – if there was that risk that maybe he wouldn’t be around for much longer if things got too serious.

He didn’t want Cas to die! Sure, the headaches were bad, but they couldn’t possibly be _that_ bad, could they? What if they’d already had a really horrible effect on Castiel – an effect that they couldn’t actually see?

He could feel the cool press on his mind and he allowed its presence. He knew it wasn’t Cas doing it, but he kind of trusted Gabriel what with him being the one trying to fix Cas and all ...

 _He’s not going to die, Dean_ , the archangel reassured him, _not until you pass on to Heaven. He’s arranged to stay with you until the very end, and I will make sure it stays that way. I promise you he will not come to any harm._

Dean buried his face in Castiel’s neck all the same, kissing the skin tenderly as he bit back his tears.

There was no way in hell he was crying in front of anyone – especially not Cas – so he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, counting to ten as he tried to calm himself.

Gabriel was going to make sure Cas was fine, and Dean knew that that sort of news was great, but he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to Castiel once Dean actually did die. He didn’t want Cas to be left alone if he really was planning on staying with Dean until the very end of his life.

“I hope you don’t mind, Castiel, but would it be alright if I borrowed Dean-o here for a moment?”

Dean hadn’t even realised Castiel had been hugging him back until he couldn’t feel the arms around his shoulders, the fingers gone from his hair as he found himself outside, standing before the now-wingless archangel.

He stepped away, covering his face with his palms as he started counting again, desperate to slow his breathing. He knew he shouldn’t be letting himself get so worked up over something that he’d just been fucking reassured wasn’t going to happen, but he couldn’t help it, and now everything really fucking hurt.

_1, 2, 3  ..._

“Dean, he’s going to be fine,” Gabriel said aloud, this time, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

_... 4, 5, 6  ..._

“You want to know what will happen once you both pass on, right?”

_...7, 8, 9 ..._

“You’ll both go to Heaven, and he’ll stay with you ... if you still want him to by that point.”

“Of course I’ll want him to stay with me!” Dean cried, tearing his hands away from his flushed face to ball them at his sides, avoiding eye contact as he took in a few more deep breaths. He hated feeling like this: like everything was crushing down on him and making it so difficult to breathe and to concentrate – and it was just fucking horrible. “Now are you _certain_ he’s going to be okay?!”

He could hear the archangel laugh at this, so he glared at his companion, not finding the situation the slightest bit amusing.

“Yes,” Gabriel nodded, meeting his stare. “I’m certain.”

Dean looked away again, something like relief washing over his senses, twining with that of the nauseous sensation that lingered in his stomach.

He dropped to the ground, bringing his knees up to his chest as he scrubbed at his face with a palm again. Cas was going to be okay in the long run, and that’s all that mattered really. It still didn’t change the fact that there was still a slim chance that he’d have another headache, and that only made Dean feel worse.

It was _his_ fault, wasn’t it; for being so fucking pathetic in the first place that Cas felt the need to come and help him or whatever. Cas was trying to do good, and the world was basically throwing it all right back in his adorable little face.

It wasn’t fair at all.

“There are a few things I need to warn you about though, Dean, after seeing your, uhhh ... intentions toward him,” Gabriel coughed, and Dean could feel a heat blossom on his cheeks.

The bastard had gone on a little field trip through his mind, hadn’t he?

Well, that was just great. Just another problem to add to the ever-growing list of things that had already fucked with his and Castiel’s relationship in the few days they’d known each other.

Wonderful.

“Castiel isn’t ... he’s  ...” the archangel stalled, sitting down next to him with a sigh. “Has he told you yet?”

“Told me what?” Dean mumbled, hugging his knees tighter as he tried to hide his face behind them. It was bad enough talking to Sam about his relationship with Cas, and now _this_ guy knew every little dirty thought Dean had had involving the fallen angel. Dean couldn’t deny anything now – if he did, Gabriel would most likely just call him out on his bullshit and make him feel even crappier about the whole thing.

“Everything.”

Dean shook his head, glancing across at Gabriel again. “He says I don’t trust him enough.”

Gabriel pouted, his brow furrowing when their eyes met once more. An uncomfortable silence followed, and Dean found it pretty fucking unsettling. He wanted to know Cas as well as Cas knew him, and it wasn’t fair for the angel to keep stuff like that when Dean trusted him with his fucking life. He’d confess to the shit-ton of fantasies he’d had involving the guy if it meant Cas told him.

“He mentioned being bullied for the colour of his wings, though,” Dean murmured softly.

Gabriel scowled, a truly frightening expression crossing his features, but he kept quiet, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

Dean didn’t know what to do. Maybe Castiel’s past was worse than he’d initially thought if Gabriel looked so fucking terrifying at the mere mention of Cas being bullied. Of course, he desperately wanted to know himself, but that was him being selfish again. Castiel would tell him when he was ready, and until that time, Dean didn’t plan on bringing it up.

 

*

 

Castiel waited in the man's bedroom, crawling beneath the blankets because the house had turned cold. It was a relief to know he wouldn’t have to leave Dean, although the prospect of having to be healed every two weeks was something of an annoyance. The only advantage to that was that he wouldn’t experience a headache ever again, so it wasn’t actually all that bad. If anything he should be relieved that Dean wouldn’t be worrying any more.

He shut his eyes, wondering what Gabriel needed to talk to his friend about. It would be wrong to eavesdrop on their conversation, or even attempt to read either of their minds. If Dean didn't want to talk about it afterwards, then he wouldn't pry. It wasn't any of his business.

The door creaked open and he heard Dean pad over to the side of the bed, kneeling beside it with a light rustle of clothing. The man ran a hand through Castiel's hair a few times, swiping the strands away from his forehead. "You awake, Cas?"

There was no way he would have been able to sleep, even if he'd tried. There was too much coffee in his system for him to relax fully.

He tugged down the comforter as he reopened his eyes so that his speech wouldn't be muffled, should he need to talk. Castiel didn't think that Dean would have been so close to him; their noses were almost touching and he could feel the slight brush of Dean's breath on his lips. "Yes."

 "Can I join you?" Dean asked, letting his hand rest on Castiel's cheek.

Castiel pulled away the comforter as he created space on the mattress. The man lay down carefully, wrapping both arms around Castiel's torso, "Gabriel made you a bunch of IDs and stuff using his magic or something," he whispered against Castiel's brow. "Congratulations. You're now an American citizen."

"What does that mean?" Castiel mumbled.

"Well, it means you don't have to worry about being kicked out of the country for starters."

Castiel smiled. "That's good."

And it was. He had never thought that he might need documents to stay with Dean. He owed Gabriel so much already - he didn't know how he'd ever repay him.

"He also said that if you want to talk to him, or if I'm being a dick - these are his words, not mine, by the way - just pray to him, okay?" Dean finished.

"Understood," Castiel nodded. He was fairly sure that Dean was incapable of 'being a dick', but he accepted Gabriel's message anyway.

Dean was silent for a minute before putting a little distance between them. "Do you want me to get dinner ready?" He asked quietly, green eyes taking hold of Castiel's own blue pair.

"If I’d have known you were hungry, Dean, I would have prepared it whilst you were talking to Gabriel," Castiel murmured, sitting up and planting a hand tenderly over the man's glimmering soul, observing the pink light that radiated between his fingers.

Dean grinned, covering Castiel’s hand with his own. “Well, maybe I’ll show you how to do it, so you know what to do next time.”

Castiel smiled back, smoothing down the creases in Dean's shirt with his other hand. He liked how taut and warm Dean's chest felt through the fabric. The man was very toned - not overly so, but enough to make it appealing to the touch.

"C'mon then," Dean said, patting Castiel's thigh. The man sprung off of the bed, keeping hold of Castiel’s hand to tug him along.

The kitchen was significantly colder than any other room in the house, but they didn't remain in there long, a few short minutes during which Dean pre-heated the oven before actually putting their meal in to cook. After that they sat in the living room together, not doing much at all.

"Sooo, do you wanna watch another film?" Dean questioned, kneeling by the far cabinet and waving a hand through the air. "Come over here for a sec!"

Castiel traipsed over, flopping down cross-legged beside the man on the smooth, wood floor.

"Right. We have a bunch of stuff, otherwise there's always programmes on TV we can watch," Dean babbled, cheeks lightly flushed. "Or, y'know, we can just talk or something - I dunno."

The man was rambling, and it was incredibly endearing. Castiel clenched his lips together to try and hide his smile whilst Dean continued to look frustrated with the situation at hand.

"I'd like to talk," Castiel mumbled quietly, watching the man look across at him with wide eyes.

"Oh," Dean said. "Okay. Well, I'll go take the pizzas out first - do you want a beer or anything?"

 

*

 

He had not intended to get Cas drunk, but admittedly, he was glad he did.

Castiel was fucking hilarious. It might not have been intentional, but some of his opinions on America alone were enough to have Dean in fits of laughter. And then at one point, Cas started talking in some alien language and it was probably the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

The guy had had about six beers, maybe a couple more, but yeah. Cas was pissed.

They were celebrating, in a sense, because Castiel was most likely never going through any of that headache shit again ... well, other than the hangover he’d probably wake up with tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near as painful as whatever he’d been through before.

He opened another beer for himself, eager to quench his thirst. It was getting incredibly warm now, despite the cool November weather outside. He figured the heaters had finally kicked in.

"What is it with humans and love?" Castiel piped up suddenly, pushing the broken radio he was attempting to fix aside as he picked up his near empty bottle. "That film we watched earlier was very, very strange, don't you think? Do most of those films share a similar interspecies relationship, or is it just that one alone?"

Dean laughed. "There’s one with a girl and a frog, but they're both human in the end, so I guess not."

"What kind of message does that send to young children, though? That bestiality is plausible and that some boy, for example, could mate with a horse?"

"Dude, why the hell are you even thinking about that? That's just sick!"

Castiel looked at him coyly. "Yet you suggested my mating with a human. _That_ would be an interspecies relationship, and I don’t think you consider it to be repulsive in the slightest."

Dean felt his face grow a little warmer. "Yeah, well you look human so it’s not as weird as some half-human-half-horse hybrid is it? You could have normal looking kids."

"Yes, but love is love, is it not? If this boy truly loved his horse the-"

"We are not talking about this!" Dean blurted, and Castiel laughed, downing the rest of his beer.

"Very strange indeed ..." Cas mumbled, placing the bottle back down on the surface. "Have you ever been in love, Dean? If you have I haven't been able to detect it in your soul."

"Dunno," he shrugged. "I mean, I thought I loved Cassie, but that all turned to shit pretty quickly. It felt kinda different to all my other relationships, but that was probably because I was high most of the time I was with her." He turned to face Castiel fully. "You think there'd be a colour change or something if I was in love? Is that what you mean?"

Castiel nodded. "I know of the typical primary colour aspect of emotions, but there are so many others. We're only told to monitor two of those three, so you can understand why it’s confusing."

They shared a moment of silence as Dean grabbed another beer from the coffee table, removing the lid carefully before handing it to the angel. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Cas when the guy was slightly tipsy, even if their conversations were kinda weird. It was just interesting to see Castiel so relaxed for once.

"What colour do you think it'd be? When you envision love, what colour do you associate with it?" Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Uhhh ... pink? That's what all that Hallmark crap uses for their stupid valentine pitches."

"Pink?" Castiel's brow furrowed and he tilted his head to the left, bringing the beer up to his lips. "You think that pink represents love?"

Dean shrugged again. "I guess. It’s got connotations with like, all that romantic stuff - but I could be wrong."

Cas just hummed, glancing down at Dean's chest as he took another swig of his beer.

Dean followed his line of sight, expecting some sort of beer spillage to be staining his shirt but there wasn't anything there.

He glanced up at Cas again, confused, only to see a similar unsure expression on Castiel's features. "What?"

"Your soul is, uhhh ... it’s fairly pink in colour right now."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean cried. "What is this? Some sort of emotional boner?"

He folded his arms over his chest, over where Castiel had favoured the night before, to hide it from the angel, but Cas shook his head. "It’s no use. I can see it regardless of whether you try to conceal it, Dean."

"Yeah, well ... fuck you," Dean pouted, drawing his knees up to his chest to form a barrier around it. He’d completely forgotten that there was pink in his soul. Fuck, if he’d have remembered sooner he would have said something like ... well ...

What else could pink represent?

Castiel just stared at him, seemingly unfazed by Dean's comment. "So is it someone from your college? Have I met them yet?"

"I’m not in love with anyone," Dean scowled, glancing away.

He didn't really understand how exactly he felt for the angel. Sure, he liked Cas a lot, but to say it was love ... he just didn't know. He'd definitely never felt like this about anyone before, but it could be the bond making his feelings so strong. That seemed like a reasonable assumption.

"Is this why you didn't want me to find you a partner? Because you harbour feelings for someone already?"

"Dude, drop it."

"No. Who is it?"

Dean ran a hand over his eyes. "Look – I honestly don’t like anyone that much! Love is a very, very strong word, and you’re not meant to go throwing it around like a football or anything.”

There was that silence again, slightly longer this time, but it wasn't actually that uncomfortable in spite of their conversation prior. Dean settled back into the settee completely, kicking his legs up to cross his feet on the coffee table.

"I see."

Dean smirked, taking another mouthful of his drink. Talking about his feelings was a big no-no, even if he did like Cas a whole lot. He was just glad the angel had stopped being so Goddamn nosy. It meant Dean could deflect the attention a little. “What about you, Cas? Ever been in love?"

He looked over at the angel, watching him down the rest of his beer. Again.

"Nope!" Castiel sung, pushing the empty bottle to the side with his collection of others before lying down across the sofa, resting his head on Dean's right thigh. "I wouldn't know what it feels like. Angels don't have the luxury of such a sentiment," he snorted, covering his eyes with his forearm. "And regardless, it’s hard to receive any affection when the majority deem you disgusting."

Dean thought back to his conversation with Gabriel before, knowing full well that this was something he couldn’t really dwell on for longer than needs be. He didn’t want to upset Cas in any way, whatsoever.

"They were bastards to you, Cas. I don't think you're disgusting," Dean murmured, toying with Castiel's hair until it stood up at even more ridiculous angles, and he grinned at his handiwork before smoothing it down again to start over.

Castiel’s lips twitched slightly. “Do you think I’ll ever fall in love – now that I’m practically human anyway?”

Dean was surprised by the question, what with Cas being so opposed to the idea of getting a partner in the first place. He tapped the end of Castiel’s nose lightly. “I don’t see why not. You’ve tackled every other emotion so far.”

Castiel smiled, reaching up with his free hand to twine their fingers together. “How do you know when you’re in love, Dean? Do you know what it feels like?”

“Not really, dude. And even if I did, it’s probably one of the hardest things to describe anyway – because everyone’s different, y’know?” He floundered, biting his lip. He wasn’t sure if that was _actually_ the case or not, but whatever. He’d already said enough to be considered embarrassing as it was.

 

*

 

“No, no, no,” Castiel laughed, throwing his head back as he pushed at Dean’s hands. “Stop calling me that!”

“You don’t think you’re beautiful, Cas?” Dean murmured, mouthing at the angel’s neck. Their hands became tangled again and he grinned, kissing Castiel’s pulse point. “I think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice,” Cas stated, but he didn’t stop laughing, a slight warmth to his flesh where Dean’s lips brushed it.

Dean liked how the angel smelt; all powdery and delicate and it was the best fucking thing ever! He covered Castiel’s neck in light kisses, relishing Cas’ little humming noises and the way he tilted his head even further back to expose more of his pretty skin.

Dean couldn’t name a single thing he disliked about Cas; with his perfect fucking face, and his kindness and his cuteness ...

Cas just deserved to know how friggin’ amazing he was, y’know?

“No. You _are_ beautiful, Cas,” Dean repeated, tearing a hand away to cradle Castiel’s neck as he worked his way over the angel’s throat. "So fucking beautiful.”

There was a short bout of silence aside form the light noises Cas had continued to make as Dean grazed the underside of the angel’s jaw with his mouth.

“Geh-heh vau-vau-don-pe-fam, Dean,” Castiel whispered, clutching at Dean’s hair with a certain hesitancy, before he was pressing Dean’s face closer, guiding his lips over the skin.

It was that weird-ass language again, and as much as Dean wanted to know what Cas was saying, it would probably be a complete waste of time to ask while Cas was pissed – especially if he was switching between that and English in the first place.

He pushed them back against the settee cushions, lowering Castiel gently because the last thing he wanted right now was to hurt the guy.

They both lay on their sides, Castiel with a grin plastered to his face that seemed almost constant as they faced each other. The angel would lean forward occasionally to rub their noses together, speaking in that same Klingon language as he did so, apparently forgetting to translate in English altogether.

But Dean didn’t mind, because Castiel was smiling, and that alone had him on friggin’ cloud nine.

Seriously – that smile could solve the world’s fucking problems in a heartbeat.

It had definitely helped Dean conquer his own.

 

*

 

Castiel opened his eyes warily, wincing at the bright light that caused a deep pain to shoot through his skull. He took in a sharp breath, covering his eyes with his hands.

Even with the light blotted, his head throbbed – a dull pain pressing at his forehead, although it wasn’t as severe as the pain he’d experienced in the past. It didn’t hurt _as_ much for one, and besides, what Gabriel had done just the day before had altered the way he felt drastically, so he knew this was not one of the incurable headaches.

So was he ill? Did he genuinely have some form of human sickness?

It shouldn’t have excited him but it did – the knowledge that he was becoming more and more like Dean everyday was exciting.

Oh.

He parted his fingers a little to let the bare minimum of light through and he looked down to see Dean sleeping softly next to him. The man’s face was pressed to Castiel’s chest and an arm slung over his hip.

Castiel smiled, pulling a hand from his eyes fully to pet Dean’s head gently, ignoring the bright-burn that made his eyes ache. It was like the only time Dean ever looked fully relaxed was when he was dreaming, and as much as it hurt Castiel to know that he hadn’t been able to help Dean with that yet, he was glad he could witness Dean’s unperturbed state.

He liked it when they could lay together like this, and he wished they could do it more often, even if they were both asleep. Being close to Dean was always nice, but being _this_ close was even nicer. He could feel Dean’s breath touch at his clothing and the warmth as their forms were pressed together, and then there was the fact that Dean liked it too. That made it better.

When they were close, Dean’s soul grew brighter, and the mere sight of the yellow and pink fluctuating whilst the man dreamt had Castiel’s smile growing ever wider.

Of course, the issue of the pink presence did make him a little anxious.

Did pink truly mean love?

He was actually rather tempted to ask Gabriel about it, because Dean most certainly would not know.

He had been planning on addressing the colour only yesterday, but to bring up such a topic whilst Dean was there – especially if it was only to represent something bad – was not particularly advisable. He would tell Dean once he knew of its true properties, but until then they could avoid the subject.

He glanced toward the coffee table, lowering his other hand when he realised his eyes no longer hurt as much, and he thought back to the night prior. It wasn’t as clear a memory as he would have liked, but he could remember ... most of it.

He hadn’t finished fixing the radio, and a few silver screws lay scattered across the tabletop amongst the many empty beer bottles that Castiel had stupidly consumed. He knew the effects alcohol had on the human body, and too many was definitely not recommended. Perhaps that was why he was still feeling so nauseous ...

Anyway, their conversation on love itself had been at the forefront of his thoughts for the majority of the evening that followed it. It really did bother him as to why Dean’s soul was monopolised by the pink hue.

Even whilst the man was asleep, Castiel could see the pink swimming amongst the shades of yellow-turned-gold. He was admittedly very proud of the few golden streaks, as he recalled Dean’s soul-shard possessing the very same shade when it had been in Castiel’s possession in Heaven.

That was something _else_ Castiel wanted to ask Gabriel about: whether he could have the shard back in his tenure. He imagined Dean would like to actually _see_ how amazing his own soul was, and the thought of it making Dean pleased had a heat crawling over Castiel’s skin.

Throughout the night, Dean’s soul had been dancing with the golds. It had been truly spectacular to observe, and to think that the change had occurred in a week alone ...

It had started off so very blue and dim, and day by day it had grown brighter, that slight touch of yellow creeping across its surface with that very subtle pink tone. Even with the pink, it was still incredibly alluring.

But it had most assuredly grown brighter as the night progressed.

His thoughts were a jumble, so putting together the fragments of his and Dean’s many discussions was a difficult task. There were a few moments that were particularly blurred and he couldn’t even remember words or actions – there was almost a disturbing blankness to his recollections, in spite of everything he had been able to remember in the past.

He did remember one thing, though.

Dean had called him _beautiful._

At the time he had found it more irritating than anything else, because he genuinely had thought that Dean was mocking him in some way or another, when in actual fact he hadn’t been. Dean had said it seriously in all fourteen instances.

Castiel didn’t understand why Dean had thought of him as such because the man was far more attractive than Castiel could ever hope to be – not that he pursued an attractive appearance, since that kind of vanity would not really aid him through life – but after the eight or ninth time, Castiel had been somewhat pleased with the compliment. He knew that Dean was only saying such a thing out of kindness, but he had never been called that before, and to be told that he was the most attractive person Dean had ever met truly did make him elated.

And he could remember the way Dean’s lips had felt against his neck, soft and gentle, in accompaniment to the spoken words. Castiel had liked their closeness at that point especially.

Dean had never been _that_ affectionate before.

There had been the small things like hand-holding and hugs, but Dean had only kissed him a few times in the past, and they hadn’t been anywhere near as intimate as that.

Castiel wasn’t complaining about such matters, though, regardless of whether Dean still held the ‘no complaining’ rule over him or not. He wanted to be that close to Dean.

He shuffled down a little on the settee, careful with his movements so not to wake the man up. Dean stirred a little, but his breathing pattern remained the same: slow and even, and even warmer against Castiel’s neck.

Castiel ran his fingers through Dean’s hair lazily, repeating the gesture when Dean’s arm tightened around him. The man’s hand slipped beneath his shirt, pressing firmly against the small of Castiel’s back to bring their bodies closer together, and it was nice; the way it felt, the way it made Castiel feel ...

Well, it was hard to explain how he felt at this moment in time, but it was pleasant.

That was a rather big understatement – it was better than just pleasant! It was comforting and gentle yet no where near as dominant as what he had felt on Thursday evening. Of course, his headache was mildly distracting and as much as he wanted to focus on the warm and light sensation, the moderate pain was difficult to ignore.

He closed his eyes again, pressing his cheek to the top of Dean’s head.

Should he ask about such a feeling? He knew that Gabriel would most likely be unable to answer a question on human emotion, but Dean would be able to. And he needed to ask about this new headache, because if it was something normal, there should be some sort of medicine available to treat the condition.

Which reminded him: Dean hadn’t taken his medication yet. The man hadn’t taken his pills at any point yesterday, and he hadn’t taken them the day before either, had he?

“Dean,” he whispered, nudging his companion’s shoulder lightly. He didn’t want to wake Dean so abruptly if he would also suffer from the same ill that had fallen upon Castiel. He’d seen the way Dean acted on a morning after drinking too much, and he wasn’t his usual self. Well, even whilst he was drinking the alcohol he wasn’t his usual self .

Castiel had felt somewhat different with the drink in his system – a little more confident, definitely, but his level of concentration had most definitely slipped. He had found himself speaking of things that he should have probably thought a little more carefully about before saying them, although he didn’t say anything hurtful.

He hoped that was the case anyway. He dreaded to think that he had offended the man in any way.

“Dean,” he repeated again, opening his eyes a little to watch for a reaction. “Dean, you need to wake up.”

The man shuffled even closer, his lips brushing Castiel’s collar bone, but still he refused to awaken. Castiel pouted, reaching down to pull at the hem of Dean’s shirt, raising the material to expose Dean’s flesh to the cold air that enveloped the room. He knew it was slightly unfair, but Dean needed to take his antidepressants regularly, otherwise they would cease working altogether. They were essential for keeping Dean well in terms of both mental _and_ physical health.

He tugged the fabric higher before he shook the man again. “Wake up, Dean.”

Dean groaned, his grip tightening once more, so Castiel placed a hand over the man’s eyes to protect his vision should he open them soon.

“You need to wake up,” Castiel said, raising his voice a little and smiling when Dean reached around to tug his shirt back into place.

“Shu’up ‘n  go back to sleep,” Dean grumbled, throwing his arm over Castiel’s torso again. His voice was lower than usual, slightly rough and strained like he needed to clear his throat.

“No. You need to take your medication now, Dean.”

There was that groaning noise again, “No, I ...” The man paused, and Castiel could feel Dean’s eyelashes flutter against his palm and fingers. “Dude, what are you doing?”

“The sun hurt my eyes, Dean. I don’t want it to hurt you too,” Castiel murmured, watching a smile play on his companion’s lips. He let Dean brush away his hand as the man sat upright, leaning over Castiel’s form with that fond expression on his face. His eyes were barely open and he still looked incredibly tired, but if Dean didn’t take his antidepressants soon, they wouldn’t benefit him at all. “You didn’t take your medication last night.”

“You’re adorable, you know that, right?”

Castiel pouted, trying desperately hard to hold back his smile as the warmth crept over his cheeks. “Don’t change the subject, Dean. You need to take your medication.”

Dean yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he faced away. “You’re doing pretty well for your first hangover, buddy, considering how much you drank and all.”

Castiel rose up on his elbows, pushing Dean’s left shoulder lightly. “Go on. We can talk later.”

He knew that Dean had a fairly high tolerance when it came to the ingestion of alcohol, and it seemed that in this instance, the after-effects did not touch him in the same way they did Castiel. Castiel only supposed that he was doing ‘pretty well’ himself because he had undoubtedly experienced worse. This was almost nothing in comparison.

He raised his arms above his head once the man had left the room, stretching out now that he had the entire sofa to himself. He couldn’t help but glance over at the coffee table again, counting the number of bottles he’d pushed into a neat collection.

... Eight.

That ... that wasn’t too bad was it?

The amount hadn’t caused him to physically be sick, and although he had a headache, that was most likely a normal symptom.

And it wasn’t like Dean had had any fewer, although the man’s glass bottles were lounging over the floorboards in addition to the numerous flat surfaces about the room. It wasn’t particularly easy to count them, especially when Castiel knew they hadn’t stayed in the living room for the entire evening. There were bound to be a few left in the kitchen as well.

Castiel swung his legs over the side of the settee to stand, figuring he could tidy up a little before showering. He gathered the bottles from about the room, carrying them five at a time through to the kitchen to place on the cleared counter top. It only took three trips and a brief scouting around the kitchen to locate a few more before they were all together in a cluster.

It looked a lot worse now that they had all been collected together and it was actually rather daunting despite the small bodies of each bottle. Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted each and every drink offered to him after all.

He had initially taken them out of politeness, but then he had liked the slight buzz that resounded throughout his body, and Dean had been drinking more, so he had also felt obliged to do the same.

It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again – especially when he recalled the price of such beverages.

He took a glass from the draining board, drying the inside with a kitchen towel before filling it beneath the faucet. He admittedly hated the way water tasted first thing in the morning: dry and stale, and unpleasant altogether, but Castiel was thirsty and water was the best thing for the body.

He grimaced once he’d finished, placing the glass beneath the tap to run himself yet another drink. It tasted worse than the first time around which was more surprising than anything else, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t like there was anything else he could drink anyway. Beer was most definitely out of the question.

He left the empty glass on the side as he walked out into the hallway, rubbing at his eyes.

There was that longing to sleep once more, playing behind his drooping eyelids as he made his way up the stairs, but then there was the knowledge that the last time he fell asleep so early in the day, he had found it incredibly difficult to sleep later on at night.

It wouldn’t be too challenging to stay conscious for a few more hours – especially if he had a shower relatively soon. Cold showers usually made him feel a little more energized, and they rid him of a certain issue he would much rather keep from his thoughts at this moment in time.

Dean was in the bedroom getting changed when Castiel walked in. “Is it alright if I go for a shower, Dean?”

The man looked over his shoulder as he stepped into his jeans. “Yeah – I’m just gonna go to the store. Do you want anything in particular for breakfast or are you fine with toast?”

“Toast is fine with me,” he smiled, stepping over to the chest of drawers to pick out some clean clothes. “You are walking to the store, correct?”

Dean made a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a groan. “Yes! I’m not stupid enough to drive when I’m hung-over.”

Castiel grabbed a clean shirt, petting Dean gently on the head on his way past. “Good. I'll see you when you get back, then.”

He slipped out of the room, noting just how very pink the man’s soul had become in their short time apart and letting its colour reside in the forefront of his thoughts for the duration of his shower.

_Beautiful._

 

 


	7. Awkward and Nervous

Is this what it feels like?  
I’ve got my heart strung up on a clothing line  
Through tenement windows in mid-July  
I’m sorry I don’t laugh at the right times  
Is this what it feels like with my wings clipped?

_The Wonder Years_

The house was fairly quiet when Dean got back. Cas wasn’t anywhere on the lower level of the house – but that was fine, because it meant Dean wouldn’t encounter any distractions whilst he put away the groceries.

Well … part of him wanted the distraction.

Or, more accurately: part of him wanted Cas to come along and strike up a conversation or something. One that didn’t revolve around the topic of boys fucking horses – or love, for that matter.

Love was equally as awkward to talk about.

He stuffed the few vegetables he’d purchased in the fridge, along with the milk and orange juice, before allocating homes for the various other groceries. It wasn’t exactly the most thrilling job, especially when it dragged on for longer than he’d wanted.

It felt longer, anyway – especially when Dean had to rearrange the cereal cabinet to cram in a couple of bags of chips. The kitchen _definitely_ needed reorganising … along with the linen closet and his wardrobe, and just like everything else, Dean couldn’t be bothered to deal with the problem right now.

He grabbed himself a drink when he was finished, running water from the faucet into a glass as he listened to the low mumbling coming from upstairs. It was kind of faint, and really fucking difficult to comprehend, but Dean knew for a fact Cas was talking to someone.

It definitely wasn’t Sam, given that the kid wouldn’t be back until later that afternoon, so it was probably Gabriel.

Or any other angel that had treated the guy decently over his lifespan or whatever.

Dean went up the stairs slowly, lingering in the doorway of his bedroom when he saw Cas praying. Dean knew the guy couldn’t have been discussing anything bad if that smile was anything to go by: the corners of his mouth upturned as his lips formed around that weird alien language again. Cas had his eyes closed, leaning back against the side of the mattress from his cross legged position on the floor with his hands interlinked on his lap.

Dean could pick out his name a couple of times, but it wasn’t particularly helpful. He'd barely scraped a C grade in Spanish, and it wasn't as if he was a literary genius when it came to talking in English. He figured Cas probably was talking to Gabriel after all, unless he was talking to God.

Dean hadn’t ever really considered it: there being a God. It was one of those topics that made him feel slightly uncomfortable, what with everything churches were saying these days. He wasn’t religious – never had been – and even though he had proof now that there probably was a God, he still didn’t really feel all that faithful. He had faith in Cas, but Castiel had proven that he could actually make Dean feel better, in an unexpected, totally weird kind of way. Dean had never thought that someone so timid and generally awkward as Castiel was would manage to make him feel like for once, everything was fine.

He padded over to where Castiel was situated lightly, keeping his movements slow and silent as he seated himself in front of the angel in an attempt not to disturb him, as Cas continued his one-sided conversation. His voice was still kind of rough and scratchy, almost like he’d just woken up; although Dean knew that wasn’t the case, because he’d only been gone half an hour at the most, and Cas smelt like that fucking amazing peach shampoo – and then there was that faint aroma of that gentle soap – and obviously, the angel’s hair was still wet; all tangled and shiny as it curled a little at the end of each strand.

He liked being able to take in every detail whilst Cas wasn’t aware of it, taking note of the slight stubble that was growing back, the way Castiel’s lashes rested heavily on his cheeks; there were lots of little things, distracting things that maybe Dean shouldn’t have been looking out for. He could see that, for instance, Castiel’s lips weren’t as chapped as they usually looked, and that was something that he shouldn’t have been thinking so much about but he totally was. They also looked kind of softer – and pinker – in addition to the delicate flush on his skin from his shower, owing to the heat or whatnot, but it suited him. Dean imagined there was a lot that suited him.

Cas rubbed at his face like a little kid, pressing a palm to his right eye as his speech became kind of sluggish. Dean bit the inside of his cheeks to stifle his laugh as he continued to watch the angel express weariness, smiling softly when Castiel yawned.

Everything about the guy was friggin’ appealing, demonstrated most perfectly through even Castiel’s most simplistic gestures. He looked so peaceful and calm and it just made Dean feel really relaxed seeing him in such a state. He barely ever saw Castiel as carefree as this, and it really was kind of therapeutic. Dean was almost feeding off of Castiel’s laid-back energy to put himself in the same mindset.

He inched closer, careful not to touch the guy as he leant forward. It was risky, but he’d always found the way Castiel responded to the slightest things kind of amusing, especially since Cas didn’t seem to give a fuck about how they interacted.

Very lightly, he blew on the angel’s lips, flashing his teeth when Cas’ eyes fluttered open and that slight grin blossomed into something even more charming.

Castiel sped up his prayer at this point, meeting Dean’s gaze and tilting his head to the left, almost as if he was admiring Dean from a different angle.

Dean mimicked the action, letting himself laugh when Castiel’s cheeks went slightly pink, those dark lashes fluttering prettily as Cas’ eyes went a little wider. _Fuck,_ Cas was beautiful.

He wondered if Cas remembered him saying that … okay, maybe that’d be a little fucking difficult for the guy to forget, since Dean _had_ told him over and over, until the precious little angel had stopped frowning. And, Cas had to have a good memory, right – because he’d lived for hundreds of years, and it’d be pretty useless if he had the memory of the average human and needed to know a lot of historical knowledge or whatever.

Do angels study history?

That would be pretty interesting. Dean wasn’t really much of a history buff, but to think that Cas had seen certain developments, inventions – tiny things that had revolutionised the world … that was awesome. If Dean had been born as an angel, he would have totally been all over that shit.

Castiel continued to convey his message to Gabriel, pushing the clumped hair from his forehead after it flopped into his eyes, keeping that same distinct smile on his face.

Dean wished he could understand what Cas was saying; he looked pretty much ecstatic, blue eyes flitting to Dean’s lips and lingering there for a while, almost like he was expecting Dean to say something – like he expected Dean to understand.

He didn’t really mind, simply content that Cas wasn’t shoving him away for being so stupidly close. He just waited for the angel to finish his little prayer, smirking as Castiel’s arms hands pressed against his shoulders gently and he was pushed backwards against the carpeted flooring. He swallowed thickly when their eyes met again, with great understanding that Castiel was even closer than before. It was actually surprising to have him acting kind of paramount when he was usually so timid and compliant.

Of course, Cas had finished his prayer by now, his hair falling back onto his brow as he leant over Dean, a hand either side of Dean’s head, “You were very quiet.”

Dean grinned wider, chuckling lightly when Cas sat on his abdomen. Cas wasn’t actually too heavy; sure, the weight made it a little more difficult to breathe, but it wasn’t like it was impossible. And anyway, it was nowhere near as bad as the time Kubrick tackled him at football training.

Dean hadn’t been able to breathe properly for at least a week afterwards.

Castiel lowered himself onto his elbows, dropping his head so their foreheads came into contact, damp hair pressed between their brows. The familiar gesture had Dean relaxing beneath the angel and he closed his eyes, welcoming the light touch of Castiel’s breath against his lips.

“You praying to Gabriel again?” Dean murmured, settling his hands on Castiel’s thighs, noting how odd it was for the angel to actually be wearing jeans for once.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, smile still evident in the way he spoke. Dean listened to his companion’s steady breathing, licking his lips a little to feel each exhalation with more ease.

He let his fingers trail over the denim delicately, opening his eyes when the angel’s breath hitched. “Is it because I was being a dick last night?”

“No. You weren’t,” Castiel stated slowly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Dean repeated the careful movement over the upper half of Castiel’s leg. “Sooo … what were you praying about?”

Castiel’s hips tilted forward – very barely – but it was enough for Dean to notice and he clamped his mouth shut, desperate to keep his amusement hidden. He knew he was pushing it more than normal, but man was it tempting to go that one step further. His fingers were literally just a few inches away from Castiel’s zipper …

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t speaking ill of you,” Cas whispered, drawing back to some extent to rub their noses together. Dean grinned, remembering the night before and how Cas had done the exact same thing. It was fucking adorable.

Unless Cas did this when he was happy or some shit like that, Dean guessed that he remembered being called ‘beautiful’. He wondered if Cas actually liked being told that, because yeah, it probably would be kind of embarrassing what with rarely ever being complimented before, but it had to have made him feel good, right?

But if Castiel remembered _that_ , then he would also be able to tell Dean what he’d said in that bizarre language.

That had been kind of cute too, when Cas went all alien on his ass – and Dean had just pretended like he knew what the fuck was going on, when in reality he was pretty much getting off on the way Cas sounded when he was drunk, because Jesus Christ: that was definitely his new found fetish.

“I was merely asking if Gabriel could bring me something the next time he visited. That’s all.”

“What is it?” Dean queried, trying to focus on what Cas had been saying instead. He felt kind of bad for zoning out like that.

“Your Christmas present,” Castiel giggled, and man did that have Dean feeling hot all over, seeing that smile on Castiel’s face pinch slightly, almost like he was trying not to come across as excited as he actually felt.

But to know that Castiel was actually getting him something – like, an _actual gift_ – had him just as excited as Cas probably felt. He would be getting something from someone who knew everything there was to know about him, and that was pretty fucking awesome. Of course, he would be happy with whatever it was, knowing that Cas had put thought into it, and then there was the fact that it would be a present from an angel.

_A motherfucking angel._

Dean could definitely cross that off his list of life expectations.

The only issue he had was knowing that he’d need to buy Cas a present in return, and obviously, that was going to be really fucking difficult when he had no real clue as to what Castiel liked, “Dude, if you’re getting me something, you need to tell me what you want.”

Castiel tilted his head a little, that fond smile playing on his features, “May I think about it for a while? I want to make sure Gabriel can indeed retrieve your gift before you trouble yourself with a dowry for me.”

Dean blinked as he watched the angel sit up properly. He knew Cas couldn’t help it, but sometimes the way he talked was really friggin’ weird, “Yeah, okay. Just don’t leave it till the last minute or anything.”

Castiel nodded as he placed his hands over Dean’s, seemingly unfazed by their positioning on his thighs. Dean had definitely been pushing it by resting them _that_ high up. “Do you, uhhh,” he coughed, glancing away sheepishly, “Do you still want me to make you breakfast, or do you wanna wait till lunch to eat?”

It had pretty much only just turned eleven anyway, so it wasn’t like it mattered when they ate. And besides, Sam wasn’t going to be back until at least three, so the kid wouldn’t be here to complain if they didn’t eat at a ‘reasonable hour’.

Cas ran his fingers over the back of Dean’s wrists lightly, “I’m fine eating whenever you’re hungry.”

Dean could feel the burn at the tips of his ears as Cas continued to caress his skin. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but Cas was acting kind of different. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but it was still vaguely noticeable.

Like, for example, the way Cas was currently guiding Dean’s hands to his hips. Dean didn’t exactly have a problem with it because he’d definitely done this in his mind a few times over in the past couple of minutes, but it was just the fact that _Cas_ was prompting him to do it that made him slightly nervous.

Like fuck did he complain though, because if Cas was basically telling him it was okay to hold him there, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to pull away.

He glanced up again to meet the angel’s gaze, only to find that Castiel had gone all timid again. “Cas?” He asked, watching the darker flush touch at the angel’s cheeks. Dean was starting to get the impression that even Cas didn’t know what he was doing. The angel’s brow furrowed a little before their eyes met again, and Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, “Is everything okay, dude?”

“I … yes. Yes, I feel fine,” Castiel forced a smile, climbing off of Dean’s abdomen to rise to his feet, “I was just thinking for a moment.”

“You just look a little … out of sorts,” he rose up into a sitting position, taking the hand that was offered to him, “You sure you’re okay?”

Castiel pulled him up, smile faltering a little, but he petted Dean lightly on the head again with his other hand, carding his long fingers through Dean’s hair, “I’m sure.”

“Promise?” Dean grinned, sliding an arm around Castiel’s waist to bring them closer together. He knew something was up, but Castiel wasn’t really one to talk about his issues so bothering the guy about it wasn’t really going to help. If something was really bad, Cas would say so, wouldn’t he?

“Promise,” the angel replied, something like exhaustion tainting his words. Dean stared at him a little longer before glancing away, figuring that he might be making the angel uncomfortable by looking at him for too long. He knew it was a ridiculous excuse, given that Castiel stared at him a whole lot more than Dean stared back, but that was all down to Castiel’s social ineptness. Dean didn’t really have an excuse for staring himself, unless he went with the whole _‘I just think you’re pretty’_ side of things.

He loosened his grip, dipping his head a little as he bumped their hips together, “I was gonna ask you before … what was it you said to me last night?”

Castiel stilled for a moment, turning his head to try to meet Dean’s line of sight, “When? I said a lot of things, Dean. You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

“Well, you were talking in that weird language quite a bit, and I didn’t really understand …” Dean murmured, letting himself wonder backwards as Castiel pushed with his whole body, turning around fully and pressing a palm to Dean’s solar plexus.

“Enochian.” The angel smiled, staring up at him, “It’s called Enochian.”

“R-right. Well, you were talking in _Enochian_ and it was kind of hard to follow.”

Castiel grinned wider, “’Kind of’?” He pushed Dean lightly with his hand again until Dean could feel the back of his knees hit the mattress, “I’d find it most impressive if you’d managed to pick up on what I was saying.”

Dean went bright pink at the realization that Cas was mocking him, ducking his head as he sat down. It was starting to make Dean nervous: Castiel’s confidence. He didn’t want to be teased and patronized for something he’d said.

But then … wasn’t that how he was treating Cas; like some little kid who had no clue about the world, when Cas probably knew more about it than Dean did?

Aside from the social aspects, of course. Cas seemed to struggle with those quite a bit.

He risked a glance up, only to see the angel practically skip over to the wardrobe. He had to be honest, there was something quite charming about the way Castiel acted: kind of childish, but then it was sort of graceful too. And then there was the fact that Castiel was comfortable acting however he wanted without a care in the world, and that definitely put a smile on Dean’s face.

Castiel had gotten over whatever had happened to him in earlier life, and he was making the most of what he had now – he was making the most of his _freedom_. Dean only wished he had the same luxury of being able to get over his own past so that he could be just as relaxed, but it just wasn’t happening.

Cas had told him once before that he would soon enough, but Dean just hoped it was true. There were a few problems he still needed to sort out at the moment, and knowing that his older issues would resurface to be discussed had him feeling somewhat unsettled.

But he would take Castiel’s word for it. If he was going to get better soon, he shouldn’t really complain.

Dean lay back on the bedspread, stretching his arms above his head as he waited for Cas to spring back over. It truly was bizarre how Cas could go from tired and lazy to all excitable in the space of a minute, throwing himself against Dean’s chest with that cheerful expression.

Dean laughed. “Dude! Get off!” He hugged Cas close all the same, rolling them to the side gently to ensure Castiel didn’t stab him with the sharp end of the weapon. Castiel’s hands scrabbled against Dean’s abdomen, the blade falling from his grasp and landing against the mattress between their faces. Cas was blushing now, probably finding their closeness a little embarrassing, so Dean loosened his grip around the angel’s torso, just in case the guy wanted to move away.

“Sorry, Dean,” Castiel mumbled, although he didn’t sound the slightest bit apologetic, touching at Dean’s chest lightly prior to picking up the weapon once more. It confused Dean a little, what with Cas bringing the blade over with him. He didn’t think it would be needed. “Now, at what point did I communicate differently.”

Maybe Cas hadn’t realised he’d been speaking in a different language after all.

Dean closed his eyes as he tried to remember. He felt Cas shuffle closer, the hand settle on the back of his head before their foreheads were pushed together again. “Well … you’d just tripped over in the kitchen and –“

There were an assortment of images being thrust into his mind at this point: Cas falling against him, spilling his beer over the floor, elbowing Dean when he didn’t want help cleaning up the mess …

“Is this where you mean?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah. We were talking about –“

“Your taste in music,” Castiel finished, and Dean swore he could hear the smile in his voice.

Dean nodded again, amazed as the whole scene played out in front of him in something like a third person’s point of view. “Fucking hell – you’ve got a pretty good memory, dude. This is like, HD quality!”

Every word Dean had said, every slight action – it really was incredible!

“I didn’t recall all of the events, what with the ingestion of alcohol tainting my mind, but I’ve been able to remember every day of my life since my fourth year of age,” the angel hummed, fingers sliding through Dean’s hair. “I don’t like the blankness alcohol left in its wake, though. It unsettles me that I haven’t remembered it all.”

Dean opened his eyes again, meeting Castiel’s gaze, those blue eyes all soft and bright as they stared back. “You want me to share what I remember with you afterwards?” He asked, smoothing his palm down the angel’s back.

Castiel smiled and fucking hell – Dean would do anything to see Cas smile like that every single second because it made him look so much more remarkable than he already did. Dean didn’t care if he’d told Cas how stunning he was – it should have had a good affect on his self-esteem, right? And it wasn’t like it was a lie, so maybe Dean should say nice stuff more often.

Cas needed to know that he wasn’t disgusting or damaged, and that he was great! He was one of the most awesome people Dean had ever met, and Dean was so fucking grateful he got to be friends with him!

“I didn’t believe you when you first said so, Dean – especially since you were drunk.” The hand in Dean’s hair slid back over his neck gently, and Dean watched the lazy expression cross Castiel’s features; his eyes slightly lidded, but that smile remained in place. “But thank you. And I’m glad I get to be friends with you too.”

“W-wait – were you just reading my mind?” Dean cried, watching Castiel’s brow furrow and his smile slip.

“Dean, whilst we lay like this, our thoughts can interweave. You _pushed_ that opinion across into my mind … did you not intend to share that kind of information with me?”

Dean recoiled, jolting a little as he broke away from Castiel’s hold to sit up. “I … I don’t really feel comfortable doing this.”

“Did I do something wrong?” There was that slight tremble to the angel’s voice as he sat beside him, leaning forward as he tried to catch Dean’s eye.

Dean purposely kept his eyes fixated on the floor where they were seated only minutes ago. “I don’t want you rummaging round in my head, okay?”

There was a heavy silence that followed and Dean drew in a deep breath. He shouldn’t be pushing Cas away like that. It wasn’t Castiel’s fault because the guy had thought it was okay to share their thoughts, and if anything, Dean should just be grateful he didn’t let his big-ass crush slip.

But Cas could have at least _warned_ him. Then Dean wouldn’t have let himself think about that sort of stuff in the first place. Then he wouldn’t have risked making Castiel upset or whatever.

The weight on the mattress shifted abruptly, and he could see Castiel walk away from the corner of his eye. “You may call me attractive to combat the hurtful comments made about my appearance in the past, Dean, but let me tell you something,” Castiel muttered over his shoulder, and Dean looked up properly to see the angel’s hands balled into fists at his sides. The knuckles became incredibly white on his left when he gripped his blade tighter, looking almost painful. “The fact that you do not trust me enough to know that I would never search your mind without permission – in spite of the conversation we had the just night before last – is the biggest insult I have ever received. There is a reason I do not talk about myself, and if you are deeming me as someone who is untrustworthy based on one incident in which _you_ were the cause, then I am afraid of what you will say once you know of my history.”

“W-wait – what?!” Dean blurted, standing up to walk over just as Castiel vanished from sight. “Cas?!”

He listened for a reply, darting his eyes about the room as he searched for some form of movement – any giveaway to where Cas was. He knew the guy had most likely ditched him completely, but he still had that shred of hope that maybe Cas was still here, waiting for an apology.

“I’m sorry.”

 

*

 

Dean changed into his running gear, throwing his previously worn clothes across the room. Cas had been gone for at least two hours now, and Dean was tired of waiting. Yes, he may hate being without the guy’s company, but he could deal with it – in the most respectable and beneficial way possible, of course. He didn’t want to do anything that would piss Cas off further when he returned.

But man, that was like the most hurtful thing Cas had ever said – hell, it was the only hurtful thing Cas had ever really said to him. Dean was trying to trust him – he honestly was – but this was different. This was _Cas_. He should trust him already, what with Castiel being so very fucking honest with him ever since they’d met. Even _that_ statement had been painfully honest, and the fact that Cas had the guts to tell him something like that in the first place had him feeling like shit: because Cas just wanted someone to confide in.

Dean  _knew_ what it was like to have so much bottled up, and talking about it – just like Cas had told him – would probably do the angel good – but Dean wasn’t a supportive enough friend. He was a shit friend. He always had been.

He’d always found friendships difficult, and he was actually pretty fucking surprised that he hadn’t fucked up his friendship with Jo yet. They’d had a shit-ton of arguments in the past, and Dean had said some _really_ nasty things to her, but they always managed to work it out.

And Jo didn’t even have that high a level of tolerance. She wasn’t afraid to call Dean out on his shit, and she sure as hell didn’t listen to him whine about the same issues for weeks on end. She _made_ him confront the problem, and it had made dealing with it much easier.

But he’d always been afraid of bringing up the whole Gordon situation, and the drugs, and problems with his dad – dozens of problems he’d kept hidden because he was too fucking scared to talk about them. Scared of being judged.

And in a way, that was a lot like how Cas was feeling.

He slammed the front door on his way out, and yet again, he didn’t bother stretching as he took off down the street. He didn’t care if he got hurt or if he ached for days afterwards. Stretching wasn’t going to help him overcome his trust issues, so what the hell?

Why not add another problem to the list.

He ran as fast as he could, his feet pounding on the sidewalk as he burnt up any drop of energy left in his body. He hadn’t eaten since half seven the day before, and his stomach was aching, but Cas was probably feeling the same, so why should Dean whine about it?

But back to the topic at hand, in terms of issues and all that crap: Cas was just like him, except he had no one to talk to.

 _Why?_ Because Dean was an ignorant fucking asshole.

Cas had his own problems, and because Dean didn’t trust him like a real friend fucking should, Cas couldn’t talk about them. He couldn’t let out his anger, or ask for advice, because as devoted as he was to Dean, Dean was not devoted back.

When Dean first thought about it that way, it actually came across like _Cas_ was the one with fucking trust issues, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Castiel _wanted_ to talk about himself. Dean, on the other hand, did not.

Of course, at first, Dean thought it kind of selfish, what with Cas knowing all about Dean’s shitty life to begin with, but he’d asked Dean to talk about it – he’d _told_ Dean before that talking would make things better, and what had Dean done instead?

Oh. That’s right! He’d used the fucking telepathy thing to ‘talk’ about it.

That hadn’t been talking. That had been Dean showing the angel his life all over again; making Cas watch how fucking _stupid_ Dean had been in terms of not confronting his problems, and they’d never talked about it afterwards because Dean had thrown a bitch-fit.

And Dean had been too afraid to bring it up again because he was a Goddamn idiot, focussing more on his ‘friendship’ with the angel, and letting petty things like Castiel’s hips and his eyes and his fucking toned ass get in the way of what he actually thought about the guy – and yes, Cas was right about the whole commenting on his appearances ideal because as reassuring as it was for Cas to hear that sort of thing, at the end of the day, appearances shouldn’t count for shit!

Cas was kind and giving and didn’t say a bad thing about anyone – that’s what Dean should have been telling the guy instead of telling him how friggin’ beautiful he was! But even then, that was Castiel’s true fucking beauty, wasn’t it: his big fucking heart and his optimistic attitude despite everything shitty that had happened to him in the past.

Dean stumbled slightly on the sidewalk as he felt a sharp pain in his right thigh, but he ignored it as he kept sprinting; brushing aside the harsh burn like it was nothing as he made his way to the stadium.

He needed to trust Cas more, but how the hell did he go about that? Castiel knew everything about him, and yes, he’d admit that it made him uncomfortable. He had liked it when no one knew that he took antidepressants, or that his Dad was a fucking psycho when he was drunk; or that Dean had so much resting on his shoulders right now because he _knew_ that working two jobs alone would not be able to keep the electricity running in their house much longer, and that sooner or later they really would be eating out of trash cans because Dean was being so fucking selfish by applying to college in the first place.

 _Sam_ needed to go to college. _Sam_ was the one who would be going on to do bigger and better things, leaving Dean alone because Cas sure as hell wouldn’t be staying around much longer if Dean couldn’t trust him enough!

Dean keeled over at the entrance to the sport stadium, retching as he leant against the cobbled wall. He could feel the tears on his face as he threw up for the third time, his bile clear and burning at the back of his throat.

What the _fuck_ was wrong with him?!

He’d been stupid all along. Had he really thought that two jobs would keep them safe? He was earning barely enough to pay the bills because _fuck_ , it had only been three months! Sam would be taken away, and Cas wouldn’t be able to help and Dean would end up on the streets – all because he was a selfish fucking idiot!

He couldn’t keep going like this – he didn’t want to keep going!

He heaved as he threw up again, coughing profusely as the acid forced its way into his mouth. It stung, and everything ached, and he just wanted to slam his head against the fucking wall.

 

*

 

There were fingers against his neck, cold and somewhat timid, unsure as they pressed against his pulse point. Dean ignored it, focussing on the painful throb that detonated to the left of his skull. “Fuck,” he whispered, pushing at the hand roughly as he let his eyes flutter open.

The world spun for a moment, not that there was much to actually spin. The sun was setting over the edge of the stadium wall, a mild darkness directly above his head: more of a blotted purple than anything else, melding with the red a little further along. _Pretty_.

He struggled to sit up, pressing his palms to either side of his torso as he heaved himself up, irritated with whoever it was that kept touching him. He batted the hand away again, “Get off.”

“Sorry,” came the mumble in response. The voice was female – that much he could tell as he felt a bout of nausea push to the surface and he turned away from the voice to chuck up on the grass, hating the way the bile lingered on his tongue as he tried to rid his mouth of the burning contents. “You’ve hurt your head quite badly,” the voice came again. Dean just wanted to tell them to leave him be so he could get back home. It looked pretty late, and Sam would get all worried if Dean didn’t go back soon, what with having class tomorrow morning and all.

“I’m fine," he grumbled, forcing the hand away for the third fucking time.

And Cas would probably get all worked up over nothing. Again.

Although Dean owed him a big fucking apology for earlier. He was actually considering telling Cas how he really felt, just to get the whole ‘waiting around for something that would never happen’ thing out of the way.

Unless, of course, Cas was still going all invisible on Dean’s ass. That would pose a few issues.

He pushed himself up onto his haunches, wincing at the sharp burn in his leg – and fucking hell: his head felt like it was on fire! It was difficult when he tried to get to his feet, but Miss Touchy-feely was incredibly helpful, slipping her hands beneath his armpits to haul him up, resting her hands on his shoulders afterwards to steady him. Dean actually had to bite back a ‘fuck off’ when her fingers touched the base of his neck.

Only Cas was allowed to do that these days. Dean didn’t need shitty comfort from anyone else.

He leant against the wall as he regained his balance, taking sight of the faint blood stain from where he’d head butted the wall.

It had definitely felt good at the time.

“Look! Can you stop fucking touching me!” He snapped when the hands settled on his bicep, and he flinched away, shooting the clingy bitch a glare before he tried to walk back down the street on his own. He didn’t want anyone’s help. He wanted Cas.

He wanted to talk to the angel, cos’ Cas could help. Cas would make him smile again, and Dean could go another day pretending like everything was fine. And then he would talk about his fucking problems and make Cas happy.

That was what he wanted right now: Cas to smile that precious fucking smile of his.

It took five minutes before he realised the girl was trailing behind him, so he spun around to face her, and she threw out her arms, almost like she thought he would fall. “Why you following me?” He blurted, leaning against a garden fence as he tried to keep himself steady.

“I want to make sure you’re safe. You’re not very stable.”

Their eyes met and Dean scowled, twisting round again to avoid any more conversation. He hoped this blonde chick didn’t expect him to invite her in or anything when they got to his house. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty or anything, but Dean didn’t intend on accommodating for any more people. Sure, he’d accepted Cas into their home, but that was literally the first time he’d ever done something like that, and he’d thought Cas had been suffering with amnesia and stuff, so he had a good reason.

This girl was normal, as far as he could tell. Part of him felt at little sick when he considered the fact that she could be a demon or something, but they were almost home now. If she was, Cas would take care of it.

If he was back, anyway.

 

*

 

Castiel sat on the porch step, wiping at his face as he drew his knees to his chest. He wanted to go look for Dean himself, but he didn’t know if the man was angry or just annoyed; those two options posed different locations for where he could be, and Castiel wasn’t willing to search every young woman’s home in the vicinity. Not only that, but Dean would return when he was ready, just like Castiel had done.

He shouldn’t have let himself get so worked up over something so small. This seemed to be a common issue that he and Dean shared, although it wasn’t fair for Castiel to say something that could instigate a reaction remotely similar. He should have just held his tongue, like he usually did, as he waited for Dean to calm down again.

He bit his lip when he felt the fresh tears hit his skin again, and he buried his face in his palms. Dean was going to shout at him for being stupid and ridiculous, and for dozens of other reasons that the man had probably concluded in their time apart. He shouldn’t have told Dean how he’d felt. It was selfish and cruel, and he didn’t care if he was trusted so long as Dean got back safely.

Sam had attempted to reassure Castiel earlier that Dean wouldn’t be annoyed, but Castiel knew that wasn’t true. He’d seen the look in Dean’s eyes before he’d left; the same flash of hurt that had been present when Dean had realised his father had abandoned him. _Broken._

Castiel shouldn’t have left, or more importantly, he should have returned sooner, but he was too infuriated to go back … and too cowardly, so it seems.

He’d merely walked out of the house, shielding himself from view as he made his way out to the back yard. It had been relaxing, the few hours alone with that familiar silence he had begrudgingly missed. It was wrong of him to have preferred his own company over that of Dean’s, especially since he’d been pining for Dean’s company from the moment he set foot in the shower. If Uriel had thought Castiel attached to the human before, what did that make his relationship with the man now?

In all honesty, Castiel couldn’t care what definition his and Dean’s relationship fell under. Dean was happy, and Castiel felt happy himself, and unless mutual happiness ruled out certain associations, Castiel didn’t mind what they called it.

He merely hoped that the attachment would also be mutual once the man returned.

Castiel shivered suddenly as the frozen wind swept his hair from his forehead, doing up the front of Dean’s hoodie to protect his chest from the cold. The garment was incredibly large on him, but what it lacked in terms of being well tailored, it made up for in warmth, crowding around Castiel’s shoulders like a more efficient blanket. And then, there was the fact that it smelt like Dean, having only been worn the day prior by the man himself. It was odd, how even though they used the same body wash, there was still that scent lingering on the fabric that was unmistakably Dean’s: gentle and comforting, and strangely it was more obvious, and more appealing than that of the soap.

He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve, hugging his knees close before pressing his forehead to the denim covered caps. He felt exhausted and weak, and the crying had only made it worse. He didn’t even understand why he was crying; he had faced worse situations before, and he knew Dean would return eventually, so there shouldn’t really be anything to cry about. And besides, crying only made him look more vulnerable and pathetic. Even Sam had looked at him with something like pity in his eyes, and that had made Castiel feel incredibly uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be pitied by a child – no matter how kind they were: it was simply humiliating.

It was all still so difficult to deal with, and Castiel was trying to control it – he was getting _better_ at controlling it. There was still that odd fluttering sensation in his stomach whenever Dean drew near, and that seemed to be something beyond his hegemony, but Castiel would attempt to tackle it once the more irritating sentiments had been dealt with.

There was a scuffle on the paving before him, but Castiel wasn’t able to lift his head quick enough before the arms were around him, before dozens of quick kisses were pressed to his neck as he toppled back against the porch, Dean laying atop him and apologising with every choke-like breath.

Was _Dean_ crying?!

“Where were you?!” Castiel yelped, his voice cracking a little as Dean hugged him tighter, as the man kissed beneath Castiel’s jaw, his skin wet where Dean’s tears dripped against it. “I-I didn’t think you’d leave the house!”

There was that faint metallic scent that he was all too familiar with and he pushed Dean away gently, sitting up to look him over. “You’re hurt,” Castiel whispered, and it felt like his stomach had dropped, an ache settling in his chest as he reached forward timidly to examine the wound on Dean’s head. A scab had formed over the mark, but the surrounding tissue was a harsh purple colour, specs of blood dotted over the skin. “Dean …”

“So you _are_ Dean Winchester after all.”

Castiel snapped his head around to the woman standing in the centre of the front yard, feeling his head become lighter as he fumbled behind him hurriedly for his blade. He could see her halo, the dim illumination of her Grace about her form, and it didn’t take him too long to recognise her at all. “Is that an issue, Hester?” Castiel spat, shuffling closer to Dean’s body to keep him protected. He froze for a moment, twisting to face Dean again. “Did she do this to you, Dean? Did she hurt you?”

“Of course I didn’t!” Hester sniffed, stepping closer. Castiel readied his weapon should she try to harm his charge. His limbs felt weak and in no condition to fight, but he attempted to hold his arm steady none the less, attempting to hide his vulnerability. “Although it’s what he deserves. Look at what he’s put you through.”

Castiel didn’t like the way she spoke of Dean as if the man had caused Castiel physical harm. Castiel had been worried, but that worry had been short-term, and now that Dean had returned, everything would be fine. Castiel would apologise, and everything would return to as it was before.

He also didn’t understand why she was being so considerate, given their history, but she had always been odd like that: one minute she was walking by in heaven, nodding her hello in passing, the next she was insulting Castiel just as much as the others.

Castiel scowled. “Why are you here?”

There was a smile on her face; just as odd as she was herself, and it gave Castiel an unsettling feeling in his stomach again. He didn’t intend to return to Heaven if this was what she was pursuing. Not when he had Dean.

“I have come to make you an offer.”

Castiel wasn’t interested in anything she had for him. He didn’t want anything to do with heaven anymore, let alone _her_.

“I know that they were not easy on you back in Heaven,” she murmured, seemingly forgetful of the many times she had joined in. One time in particular resounded in Castiel’s thoughts: the day Hester had pushed him into the golden pond and he had split his skull on the soul-shard wall, eliciting laughter from everyone who had witnessed the event. “But if you return with me today, I will –“

“No,” Castiel muttered sharply, turning his attention back to Dean. He placed his palm on the man’s cheek, letting the energy of his blade seep into his companion to heal his wound.

“But you don’t even –“

Castiel fixed her with a glare, running his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone repeatedly to keep the man calm, reassured. “I said _no._ ”

There was an unpleasant silence that followed, Castiel scouring Dean’s face for any other signs of injury as the skin wove over his wound, leaving nothing but clear tissue in its wake. His eyes met Dean’s for a brief moment and he attempted a smile.

The man was shivering; his face fairly pale aside from the red around his eyes, so Castiel unzipped the hoodie he was wearing, pulling it around Dean’s shoulders to warm him up. The air nipped at his bare skin, but he didn’t care. Dean was smiling very faintly in return, and that’s all Castiel needed to make him feel marginally better himself.

Hester cleared her throat, seemingly agitated with being ignored. “Not even if I offer to intertwine our Grace?”

Castiel froze. “Excuse me?”

“If you return today, I would like you to become my bond-mate,” Hester announced proudly, a vague smugness to her voice.

Castiel watched the smile vanish from Dean’s face and their eye contact was broken as Dean dropped his head a little, staring at the floor. Castiel let his palm fall from Dean’s cheek as he turned to face Hester fully, annoyed that by suggesting such a thing she'd made Dean upset.

He rose to his feet, walking down to few steps until he was a little over a foot away. There was that burn of Dean’s eyes on him once more and he ignored it for the time being, frowning down at the smaller angel, clenching his blade tightly.

“Do you truly think that I am so desperate for affection that I would bond with _you?_ ”

Hester made a noise that resembled something of a choke. “You should show me some respect, Castiel! I don’t see anyone else lining up to be as close to you as I am offering.”

“Respect? You want my _respect?!_ ” He shoved her hard in the chest. “After _everything_ you said to me? After _everything_ you did? Do you honestly think you deserve my respect?!”

She slapped away his hand, raising her chin in the air defiantly, keeping silent. Castiel glowered. “I find it rather amusing actually, that what you’re basically offering, is to take me away from the one person who genuinely cares as to whether _I’m_ happy or not. When did you ever take my feelings into account?”

“Are you telling me that you prefer the company of some suicidal human to that of your own _kin_?” Hester laughed, a dark sound that had a heat sweeping over Castiel’s senses.

“Yes,” he growled, turning his back on her to walk back over to the porch. The man was blushing furiously, still avoiding his gaze and Castiel smiled, reaching out his fingertips to touch Dean’s heated skin. He bent down, aware that he needed to do everything he could to ensure forgiveness. “I would choose you over everything, Dean. Always,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Dean’s temple, the same spot that had been damaged only moments ago.

“Uriel was right. You _are_ in love with this boy,” Hester sneered, somewhat bitter as she stared across at him from the granite pathway. “You’re an embarrassment to the entire Garrison, Castiel.”

Castiel continued to smile, adjusting the garment covering Dean’s shoulders when the man began to shiver. “An embarrassment that you would have been happy to mate with, apparently.” He encouraged Dean to slide his arms into the sleeves, carefully zipping it closed when it had been worn properly. “Do you consider me to be an embarrassment, Dean?”

The man shook his head, attempting a smile, and Castiel kissed his forehead again. Dean was being incredibly quiet considering his usual bold nature, and that was somewhat worrisome. He didn’t look very well, in actual fact. Even with the additional clothing to keep him warm, he was still trembling with the cold.

Not only that, but it was odd to also notice that Dean’s skin was now glistening with perspiration. He cupped Dean’s face as best he could with the weapon still in his hands, letting its energy wash through the man’s body again in an attempt to locate the cause of such abnormalities. “May you leave us be now, Hester. I’d prefer it if you never visited me again.”

From what he could tell, the only real harm was muscular strain in the upper part of Dean’s thigh. He couldn’t heal it very well without closer contact, but he doubted the man would let him touch the necessary area, regardless of whether he was irritated with Castiel or not.

“You’ll regret your decision soon enough,” came the reply, steely and harsh, before the sound of wings beating down against the ground indicated her departure. 

“Derisory idiot,” Castiel murmured, watching that faint smile play on Dean’s lips again. “Now, are you feeling alright, Dean?” Castiel asked quietly, not bothering to check whether Hester had indeed left them alone. “She … she didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“N-no,” Dean shook his head. “I’ve just been sick a few times, is all.”

Castiel surged energy toward Dean’s right leg, numbing whatever pain Dean was experiencing for the time being. Dean’s eyes shot up to meet his own, but this time it was Castiel who looked elsewhere, aware that Dean may not be too happy with being treated this way. “I’m sorry about what I said to you before. It wasn’t fair of me t –“

“Are you fucking kidding? Why the hell are _you_ apologising?” Dean blurted, something like surprise in his voice. Castiel risked a glance, taking in the toned down blush that complimented Dean’s eyes, the pair that were still somewhat watery. Castiel reached up using his thumb to wipe away the tears that continued to roll down Dean’s cheeks, confused by the obscure heat emitted by Dean’s face. For someone who was trembling with the cold air, he was incredibly warm.

“I made you upset, Dean,” he reminded the man, letting his hands fall from Dean’s face. Dean should know why. It should have been fairly obvious.

Dean grabbed them and Castiel relinquished the hold of his blade, watching it fall down onto the steps below. “No. No you didn’t. _I_ made myself upset, Cas! I had no idea I made you feel like that!”

“But Dean –“

“You need to stop taking the blame for everything, dude.”

Castiel frowned, letting himself relax when Dean’s hands rubbed over his forearms, working up his biceps to keep him warm, presumably. “I-I just … I just wanted you to understand that it's difficult for me to communicate with you when you are letting something like this prevent our friendship from progressing.”

He hated confessing something like this to the man, especially when Dean was attempting to take the blame for it all. It made Castiel feel manipulative and cruel, and he immediately regretted saying such a thing.

“I get it, Cas, and I’m sorry.”

Castiel bit his lower lip, dropping his line of sight to Dean’s soul. It wasn’t as blue as it had been when the man first returned, but it was still considerably dimmer – almost as dull in brightness as it had been when they first met. Castiel felt like crying again – this was an acceptable situation to cry over, knowing that his efforts so far to make Dean happy had been ruined because Castiel had let his emotions get the better of him. “I’m going to fix it,” he whimpered, tearing a hand free from Dean’s grasp to press it to the man’s chest. “And then you’ll be happy again, and everything will be fine.”

There was a pause as Castiel continued to reassure himself of this fact over and over in his head, smiling softly to himself when the tears no longer made his eyes sting. He was going to make sure he never left Dean so abruptly again, and that if he ever found himself annoyed, he could simply leave in a more appropriate fashion – one that would still permit conversation and Dean’s presence, even if they didn’t speak to each other for that period of time. 

“Can I … can we talk, Cas?” Dean murmured suddenly, wiping at his eyes hastily as he attempted to rise to his feet. Castiel stood up as quickly as he could, grabbing his blade from the step before he supported the man.

Castiel nodded. “You don’t have to ask, Dean. I’ll talk to you whenever you want.”

He escorted Dean over to the front door, pulling it open and assisting the man through. Sam was waiting at the bottom of the staircase, an unsurprisingly relieved expression on his face.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean grinned, as Castiel shut the door behind them.

Sam smiled lightly in return, beaming at Castiel when he retained his position at Dean’s side. “Told you it’d be fine!”

“Yes,” Castiel huffed out a laugh. “You did.”

“Ah. So you guys were bitching about me, huh?”

Castiel smiled down at the younger Winchester as Dean’s hand settled on his waist. He could feel the benefit immediately, warmth from the man seeping through his thin tee-shirt. He was impressed at how well Dean was adapting to the situation at hand, most likely masking his feelings whilst in front of Sam so not to cause a fuss. It was actually rather sad, and Castiel looked him over briefly, scanning his face.

Dean didn’t look well at all. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Dean was at risk of fainting if he remained standing for too long, given his pale complexion.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he spoke softly, leaning into the touch and offering support. “We were worried.”

Dean drew him closer and their hips bumped. “You need to relax, dude.”

“And you need to get to bed before you pass out in the corridor,” Castiel reprimanded, elbowing him in the ribs as gently as possible.

The man still stumbled a little and Castiel had to bite back a laugh so not to appear insensitive. “What the hell did you do to my leg, dude? It feels all weird.”

Castiel faced him, smirking. There was that sudden flare in Dean’s soul, the pink shining brighter as Castiel took a step closer again. “I made your muscles relax. It was the only way to eliminate the pain, but it may feel ‘weird’ for some time.”

“And you were gonna tell me this when, exact –“

“How’d you do it?” Sam queried, and Castiel could see Dean freeze, a look of uncertainty on his features. Castiel knew that he couldn’t tell Sam the truth, as much as he would have liked to, but he had enough knowledge of the human anatomy to develop a fairly plausible excuse.

He tucked his blade behind his back, sliding it through the belt loops on his jeans to keep it out of sight. “There’s a specific nerve in your neck that, when a certain amount of pressure is applied, can cause a loss of feeling in the limb,” he said, stepping forward and stretching out to tap his finger below the boy’s ear. “This area, to be more precise.” He stilled for a moment. “Would you like me to show you?”

Sam grinned wider. “It won’t hurt, will it?”

“It will most likely feel strange, but it definitely won’t hurt,” he smiled in reassurance as he added a little pressure to where his fingers rested, reaching behind his back again to extract energy from the weapon and letting it travel through Sam’s nervous system until it touched at the muscles of his right thigh.

He didn’t use as much power as he had for Dean, seeing as the boy wasn’t suffering from any injuries for it to benefit him, but he used enough to conduct a noticeable change; one that wouldn’t last quite as long, most likely.

Castiel watched an excited expression bloom on Sam’s face, probably instigated by the alien sensation, as he drew away, letting go of his blade so not to seem irregular. Sam stood up, latching onto the banister almost immediately as the effect took hold. “This is so cool,” the boy giggled, prodding his thigh with his forefinger. “And here I was thinking that Dean was just being overdramatic.”

Dean raised his middle finger, muttering ‘asshole’ as he leant back against the wall. Castiel caught his eye, surprised at the expression he wore. The smile on his face was odd, vaguely relaxed in spite of his –

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Castiel cried, stepping as close as he could to help the man stand up properly. He shouldn’t have become so easily distracted – not when Dean was in dire need of a rest.

“I just told you to take it easy, Cas! You don’t have to worry about me constantly,” the man grumbled, slinging his arm around Castiel’s shoulders this time.

Castiel ignored him, turning his attention back to Sam. “Would you like some help going upstairs too?”

The boy looked a little startled, walking down the two lower steps shakily until he was firmly on the ground. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m gonna watch TV for a while, sooo …”

Castiel nodded. “Well, if you do want to make the transition upstairs, just shout for me and I’ll come and assist you.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Castiel nodded in his direction again before gently prompting Dean forward, encouraging him to start making his way up the stairs. It wasn’t particularly difficult as Dean did manage to walk fairly well in spite of his temporary handicap, and he didn’t rely upon Castiel for much support in the slightest. Castiel still treated him as carefully as possible, ensuring that Dean kept his footing as they made their way onto the landing before walking toward Dean’s bedroom.

He guided Dean over to the bed, unzipping the hoodie to pull it from Dean’s shoulders and prising his blade from the pocket, resting it on the bedside table for the time being. “Do you have a preference for what you want to wear, or should I just get you a clean shirt?”

Dean smiled weakly, shaking his head. “It might be weird of me to say, but if you’re making me go to bed now, I’d rather just wear my boxers.”

“But you’re shivering …” Castiel frowned, assisting the man with his clothing all the same. He sighed. “Lie down and I’ll heal your leg for you.”

He took his blade back in hand as Dean removed his shoes and socks, and those faded running shorts. Castiel actually thought that they suited Dean more so when he was shirtless; his toned chest became more prominent in contrast to the dark clothing.

Dean drew back the duvet, clambering onto the bed slowly to prevent further injuries, and Castiel sat beside him, brushing his fingertips over the man’s forehead as Dean lay down. “I hope you don’t mind if I touch your thigh for a moment, Dean. It will make the healing proce –“

“Dude, it’s fine … but do you think you’ll be able to stop my stomach hurting too, or is that asking too much?” Dean queried, looking up almost apologetically.

Castiel smiled as he rested his palm over the upper half of Dean’s thigh, letting the energy course into Dean’s muscles. “Is that the reason why you’re so pale at the moment? This stomach upset is hurting?”

Dean nodded almost shyly, and Castiel dipped down to kiss the side of his face. “All I need is for you to tell me where it hurts most.”

“Thanks man,” Dean mumbled, his voice slightly strained.

Castiel rubbed his fingertips over the flesh gently as he waited for the tissue to repair. “It’s what I’m here for.”

It didn’t take too long to heal the man, what with his injuries being significantly minor in comparison to the other night.

“Now, where is the pain strongest?” He asked, resting his hand over Dean’s muscular abdomen. He’d never really touched the lower part of Dean’s torso, but it was firm and unusual, the muscles tensing beneath Castiel’s cautious touch.

Dean guided his hand over the skin, directing it toward the upper left. “Pretty much here.”

Castiel leant down to press their foreheads together in order to aid Dean with his high temperature. He surged as much energy as he could into both areas, letting his power do the work for him, seeing as he wasn’t as well associated with illness as he was bodily harm, given the fact he had never encountered similar issues relating to sickness himself. He could see the colour return to Dean’s skin gradually, the heat residing so that it retained the regular body temperature and the man stopped trembling, a sure grin plastered to his face when their eyes met again. Castiel smiled back, ignoring the hot sensation in his own stomach when Dean linked their hands, insisting that Castiel could cease the healing process.

Castiel pulled Dean closer hurriedly, relieved that his companion was feeling well again. The man made an odd noise and Castiel laughed lightly, dropping his blade to the floor as he adjusted their position on the mattress. Dean rested against his chest as Castiel lay back against the pillows, holding him tight in apology for earlier.

“Jeez, you’re strong!” Dean exclaimed, slipping a hand beneath Castiel’s shirt. “... And warm.”

Castiel stared down at him for a moment. “Dean, is this your way of asking me to remove my clothing?”

The man went a little pink, and Castiel could feel the heat from Dean’s flush through the thin fabric of his tee. “Well, y’know. I’m cold now, and there’s nothing wrong with sharing body heat.”

Castiel bit his lower lip, looking over to the wardrobe for a minute. It would make sense, seeing as Dean was still recovering – and it wasn’t like they _hadn’t_ lain in such a way before, so it wouldn’t be considered odd. “Hold on.”

He nudged Dean’s shoulder lightly so he could remove his shirt, dropping it on the floor beside his blade.

“W-wait! You’re serious?”

Castiel began unbuttoning his jeans when Dean moved away somewhat, laying back and raising his hips as he pushed them down his thighs. “Yes. You’re right about there being nothing wrong with it, and it could be beneficial for you since you’re still not at full health.”

He pulled the material from his legs completely, adding them to his minute pile of clothing. He turned to face Dean again, smirking when he saw the obvious blush on the man’s face. “Dean, you’ve seen men wearing less. I’m fairly sure you are able to cope with my presence … or is it too much of a distraction?”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, dropping his eyes to Castiel’s chest. “What if Sam walks past? He’s gonna think we’re fucking, or something,” Dean pressed, and Castiel laughed, pushing Dean back against the mattress.

“I highly doubt he’ll be able to manage the stairs anytime soon, but all I have to do is close the door. You didn’t have to phrase it so crudely.” He slung his legs over the side of the bed spread to wander over to the doorway.

“Walk, walk, fashion, baby,” Dean called after him, his tone playful and teasing. It was followed by that melodious laughter when Castiel threw him a confused glance over his shoulder.

“Are you mocking me, Dean?” Castiel queried, closing the door firmly.

The man started to laugh again, and Castiel simply let himself smile, pleased that Dean had relaxed a little. He still wondered what the man wanted to talk to him about, what with him becoming so very close to tears earlier. Actually, he _had_ been crying, but whatever he’d needed to talk about had made him moderately upset in addition to his obvious distress.

“I’m not surprised that chick wanted to marry you or whatever it was. You’ve got a great ass, dude.”

Castiel sighed, shoving at Dean’s face and making the man laugh harder as he slid back beneath the sheets. “Is your goal to make me feel as uncomfortable as possible?”

Dean rolled into him, nesting his cheek against Castiel’s solar plexus, the slight scratch of stubble against his bare skin. “Nope. My goal is to boost your confidence. You don’t seem to like yourself very much.”

“I-I don’t. Not really,” Castiel admitted, cradling the man to his chest. He ran his fingers over the back of Dean’s neck, brushing over the fine hairs and grinning when Dean wriggled closer. Dean was acting childish, in a sweet and harmless manner which Castiel had a particular fondness for. It reminded him of when Dean was younger, when he didn’t have as much to worry about as he did today, and he was essentially free from hardships and pain. He could feel Dean’s hand settle on his thigh, his thumb drawing circles over the skin, but Castiel didn’t mind, fully aware that Dean wouldn’t hurt him. “But from what I understand, you don’t like yourself very much either these days. It’s not exactly the best thing we share in common, but it’s one of the reasons why I trust you so much. Knowing that you will be able to relate to my issues makes me feel more at ease, even though they’re not positive aspects.”

Dean went quiet again, and Castiel carded his fingers through the man’s hair tenderly. “And anyway, I don’t think Hester was at all interested in me. As far as I know, she never cared for me as a person, let alone my appearance. I would have never bonded with her.”

“But … she was an angel. You could have gone off and had angel babies or something.”

Castiel snorted. “Are you joking? Hester is one of the last angels I would ever consider to pair myself with, even if I had the luxury of choosing a partner myself.”

“Did you ever want a partner … or kids?” The man enquired, lowering his voice marginally, almost like he thought it was a sensitive subject.

In a very strange way, it was. Castiel had always known that he was not going to find a potential partner, owing to the colour of his wings, so he had shown no interest. But having a child of his own was a different matter altogether.

Because of the ridiculous rules applied to reproduction in Heaven, should Castiel have produced a child, he would have never known who they were. He wouldn’t have been able to care for them like he had cared for members of his charge in the past, and although a partner had not been of any interest to him, a child was quite the opposite.

He looked down at Dean’s features, noting how Dean had closed his eyes, seemingly content with their positioning. “If I were to bear a child in Heaven, it would have only been taken away. I’m not sure whether having children on earth is something I would pursue.”

Dean’s hand ran over Castiel’s right hip lightly. “Why do they get taken away?”

“So not to cause a distraction, I suppose,” Castiel shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure of the real reason, but since there was a rule about consummating more than once due to distraction, he had to assume caring for fledglings would be the same.

“So, you don’t have a clue who your parents are?” Dean cried, sitting up suddenly. “Who the hell took care of you?”

Castiel looked down to Dean’s soul, watching the pink attempt to swallow the blue, the light flickering with a mixture of emotions. “An angel named Joshua,” Castiel murmured, reaching out to touch at Dean’s chest. It was warm – not just Dean’s skin, but the sentiments that seeped through his fingertips. He tilted his head a little as a wave of that light sensation rolled through his body and he tried not to smile.

It was a poor attempt in spite of how personal the topic of conversation had been prior, and it actually became quite difficult to hold back a laugh, the titillating warmth almost like a pulse, touching at every part of his body until he broke the contact. When he glanced up, Dean looked utterly confused, his brow slightly furrowed as Castiel shuffled back across the mattress, sitting down cross-legged and glancing away in embarrassment. He shouldn’t have let himself become distracted so easily, especially when Dean and he still had to talk about something.

Castiel cleared his throat, staring down at his hands. “Sorry.”

“You feeling okay? I mean, you’ve been acting different since last night.”

Castiel just shrugged. He felt different, but it was something that was neither good nor bad, and also very difficult to explain. He was thinking differently, for one, and he didn’t feel as … restricted. It was odd, but calming, and Castiel didn’t have that worry of being taken away from Dean anymore. Everything was good.

“I thought we were going to talk about you,” Castiel prompted, letting his gaze wander to Dean’s chest again. He wanted to touch the small light. He wanted to figure out how Dean felt, and ask him all sorts of questions on how he’d achieved that feeling, because from what Castiel had just experienced, it was pleasant.

Gabriel would tell him what it was when he next visited anyway. Castiel wanted to know what the pink meant more than anything else right now. He knew it wasn’t really any of his business, but if it was keeping that equally as beautiful gold from spilling across the orb, then he would like to know why it was there.

The bed jolted a little as Dean lay down again, and Castiel sidled beside him, lying face to face as he placed a palm over Dean’s chest again to keep the man warm whilst deriving pleasure from his soul.

He knew Dean wouldn’t be best pleased to know that Castiel really did find the sensation quite comforting, but he was offering his body for warmth. The least Dean could do was subconsciously offer Castiel emotional warmth.

“You know how you said before that I would relate to your issues?” Dean piped up, drawing the heavy blanket over them both again. Castiel nodded, and Dean gave him a somewhat shaky smile. “Well, does that mean you could relate to my issues in return?”

“I don’t see why not. You and I are incredibly similar in terms of our history, Dean.”

Dean stared at him for a moment before facing the ceiling, that overly shiny appearance in his eyes again. Castiel could feel the worry rise in his chest, realising that what Dean wanted to talk about would most likely be relatively serious. He was panicking, yet at the same time he was borderline thrilled, knowing that Dean _was_ beginning to trust him, in the sense that he was ready to confront his issues.

It was a while before Dean spoke again, almost like he was rethinking what he was attempting to say over and over.

“Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?”

There were a few things that Castiel had hoped he would never have Dean say to him. The obvious ‘I hate you’, along with various insults about his wings and appearance, and perhaps a death threat or two; but he had never thought that Dean would consider suicide. Not now that they had met. Castiel was here _specifically_ to prevent the man from ending his life early, so to hear anything relating to his own suicidal thoughts had an unbearable weight settling in his chest.

This was a very delicate topic of conversation, and Castiel didn’t know what to say. He'd considered suicide many times throughout his life but he wasn’t sure if that was something he should share. He didn’t want Dean to become unsettled by hearing of Castiel’s past but there were a few pieces of information that could most likely help Dean, if delivered correctly.

“Yes.”

Dean’s face crumpled and he hid his eyes behind a forearm, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip. Castiel could feel that dreaded itch-like sting in his nostrils at the sight of Dean so upset, keeping his hand pressed over Dean’s soul as the sudden harshness travelled through him.  It wouldn’t be fair to let Dean suffer alone, and Castiel had caused this upset.

He would endure it too.

“W-was it because of me?” Dean choked out, the tears rolling down his cheeks rapidly and Castiel could feel a similar reaction against his own, the tears hot as they slid over his skin.

“No!” Castiel tried to state it calmly, but his voice went up at the end, and he began to fret that the way he’d said it would make Dean doubtful. “Dean, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you! I-I was assigned you the same day as I had planned it, and I was shown your future and your smile and I … I just couldn’t! I didn’t want you to kill yourself, Dean – why do you think I’m so concerned about your happiness?!”

“But I’m being so fucking selfish, Cas! I’m going to college when I should be working, and we’re gonna lose the house, and Sam’s gonna be taken away, and you’re gonna lea –“

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean. Not unless you tell me to go,” Castiel interrupted. “And you’re not being selfish for wanting _one_ thing for yourself. Your father has put you in a position where you have no choice but to work harder than necessary because _he_ was being selfish. You are not being selfish by pursuing something that you need in order to qualify for a better paid job, and regardless of that fact, I have told you before: I am more than happy to find work for myself if it will benefit you in _any_ way.”

He kissed Dean firmly on the cheek in spite of the tears, tasting their peculiar saltiness on his lips as he repeated the gesture again. “Just hang on for a little while, Dean. I’ll make things okay – you’ll be happy, and Sam will be happy, and you won’t have anything to worry about,” he tried, moving his hand to cradle Dean’s jaw as he exhaled over the damp skin. “It’s going to be fine.”

 

*

 

Cas ended up working two shifts at The Roadhouse: Thursdays and Fridays, mainly because Jo wanted an escape from two of the busiest nights the bar had to offer.

Ellen had been pretty sweet about it, considering her usual sourness to hiring anyone else for work. Dean definitely owed her a solid, although offering for longer shifts didn’t seem to go down too well. He figured he’d keep his mouth shut for the time being and just get on with it. That’s what she probably wanted Dean to do anyway: forget about it and keep working as best he could.

She was cool like that – sure, she came across as a bit of a fierce character more often than not, but deep down she was a big old softie.

It was especially nice of her to take Cas on, though – even if it would only be for a little while.

Castiel was ... well it was cute. Cas wasn’t exactly the most sociable person in the world, but he was trying his best, tugging on Dean’s sleeve when he wanted to ask him something or just staring when he had nothing better to do – because Dean had most assuredly caught him staring a few times throughout the night, grinning when that pretty pink worked its way over Castiel’s flesh. Dean was more than happy to help when asked, though; thriving on on the steely looks directed toward him when Cas wandered over, apparently tired of trying to decifer the few innuendos thrown his way by the girls at the front of the bar. Cas didn’t belong to him, but Dean sure as hell made it clear that the angel wasn’t available; twining his arms around Castiel’s waist from behind was just the beginning of getting the message across.

Cas blatantly didn’t mind, toying with Dean’s fingers as he continued his disinterested conversation. Dean shot the girls a smug grin when Cas nosed at the side of his face.

It got better when Cas couldn’t work the taps, and Dean got to demonstrate in a very hands-on manner in order to show precious Castiel just how it was done.

But that was Thursday.

The first Friday Cas worked at The Roadhouse was more a case of Dean keeping the grabby hands away from the angel. Dean had (admittedly) had a few shots, what with it being Pamela’s birthday and all – and she was paying, so who was Dean to turn down free booze?

Castiel, had declined at first, merely watching on with something of a smirk tugging at his lips as Dean entertained the fiesty group of young ladies, before Dean had encouraged him to drink at least one of the beverages. It looked so odd, seeing Cas throwing back the amber liquid – especially since he didn’t even recoil at the taste; that slightly conceited expression on his face as his eyes met Dean’s afterwards. Pamela simply giggled, egging the angel on and persuading him to drink more.

Pam’s friends were just as wild as she was, keen for Dean to take off his shirt before the night was over. A couple of them tugged at the hem when he was mid-conversation with Castiel.

It was half twelve when he finally complied, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so many hands on his body at once; the occasional bite of manicured nails against his abdomen before he laughed, brushing them aside so he could pour them all more drinks. He was grateful Ellen had entrusted him with the task of locking up again because she would _definitely_ throw a bitch fit if she'd been there to see what was going on.

“What about you, sweetheart,” one of the women drawled, pinching at Castiel’s sleeve as he wiped down the bar.

Cas just rolled his eyes, a gesture that had Dean grinning like a fucking moron because when the hell did Cas pick up something so _human_? Sure, the guy had definitely been acting a little different after their whole drunken night shenanigans, but he hadn’t done anything _that_ out of character. Dean supposed it was the alcohol because Cas had definitely lost his awkward and nervous air about an hour ago.

Still, Dean’s possessive tendancies got the better of him, and he found himself taking hold of those glorious fucking hips to prise the angel from her grasp. “I don’t think so, _sweetheart_ ,” Dean mimicked, in spite of his own want to rid Castiel of his upper body clothing. It just didn’t seem right, asking someone dressed in an adorable sweater to suddenly take it off ... not when Castiel looked like a hot nerd, anyway. “Why would you want to take advantage of poor, innocent, Castiel? That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?”

“What’s unfair is you keepin’ those mighty fine abs of yours on the other side of the bar,” Pamela called, beckoning with her hand. “Get your tush over here, Winchester!”

Dean grinned, hands sliding over the denim of Castiel’s unexpectedly well-fitting jeans to squeeze his ass, eliciting a startled ‘Dean!’ from the angel before he waltzed away, satisfied.

He looked over the counter as he strolled past from the other side, winking suggestively when their eyes met.

The surprised expression on Castiel’s face altered to something softer, and Dean _swore_ he could see Castiel’s lips twitch; that pout leering on something of a smile as he looked off toward the pool tables, feigning ignorance.

Yeah: Dean liked working with Cas.

 

*

 

It was Thanksgiving when Gabriel showed his face again. Luckily, he turned up at the front door, not a single golden feather in sight.

This was kind of a big relief, what with Sam being the one to answer it, and all.

Dean didn’t realize the archangel was even in their house until he went downstairs after his shower to get some water, finding Gabriel sat at the kitchen table talking to the kid.

“Oh hey, Dean-o!”

Dean cringed at the lame-ass nickname, but he wasn’t really awake enough to come up with some snarky reply in return. “Hey Gabriel,” he grumbled, filling a glass beneath the faucet. “You want me to get Cas up for you?”

"That would be wonderful!" The archangel grinned, before turning his attention back to the younger boy.

Dean simply nodded in acknowledgement, taking a swig of his water as he made his way back upstairs. He doubted Cas had woken up yet, given that Dean had only been in the bedroom all but five minutes ago and the angel had been coiled up beneath the sheets, his breathing steady and quiet, and obviously his eyes were closed, so ...

He took the stairs two at a time, smiling softly at the thought of waking Cas up.

Castiel was always so dazed and clingy when he first woke up in the morning; especially when Dean woke him up early.

'Early' being before 10am, according to the fallen angel.

He basically liked to sleep in, and yeah, maybe it was Dean's fault for encouraging Cas to follow his sleeping pattern, but seeing Cas all out of it with his hair even more wild than usual always made Dean's stomach flip.

He crept into the bedroom, kneeling beside the mattress as he carded his fingers through Castiel's hair, even if it would wake him up instantly. He liked how something so simple could rouse the guy in a couple of minutes, because he knew Cas wasn't a particularly light sleeper. The fact that Dean managed to wander in every morning to dress himself without so much as stirring the angel pretty much proved that fact - especially when the drawers could be a bitch to open, creaking heavily if someone so much as walked fucking past.

Within a few minutes, Castiel was opening his eyes, a light pink touching at his cheeks as he reached up to touch at Dean’s fingers. “Good morning, Dean,” Cas said, his eyes fluttering shut again. “Did you sleep well?” His voice was scratchy and quiet, more a whisper than anything else.

Dean watched Castiel stretch, kicking the blankets away sluggishly as he tried to sit up. “I did … did you sleep okay?”

“Mm hmmm,” the angel hummed, sliding his bare legs over the side of the mattress and pushing at Dean’s forehead with a palm. “It’s rude to stare, you know.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Dean snorted, rising to his feet to shove Castiel back.

Cas laughed, reaching out to grab those fucking sweatpants from the end of the bed, standing up to slide them on with Dean pretending he couldn’t see the angel’s morning wood, artfully accentuated by the loose boxer shorts.

“Gabriel’s here to see you.” Dean touched at Castiel’s arm lightly as Cas closed his eyes again, rubbing at them with the back of his hand. “He’s in the kitchen.”

Castiel grinned, grabbing Dean’s hand and tugging him toward the doorway. "He might have your present!"

Dean could honestly say he'd never seen Cas skip the whole 'drowsy' stage that usually followed after getting up two hours prior to his normal awakening, but it made Dean smile at how excited the angel was. This must be something pretty fucking special if Cas was making _this_ much of a fuss.

He let the guy run ahead, feeling the warmth roll through his chest as he made his way down the stairs.

Castiel was tugging on his sneakers in the kitchen when Dean finally did get downstairs. He had a huge smile plastered on his face, not bothering to do up the laces before he was pushing Gabriel out through the back door. "We'll be back soon, Dean," Castiel called over his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he was headed out in just a tee-shirt and sweats when it had been forecasted to snow later. Dean just smiled back, shaking his head as he sat down beside Sam at the kitchen table.

"Sooo, Gabriel told me what Cas is getting you for Christmas," Sam began, pushing the bowl of fruit over. Dean raked his eyes over its contents, ignoring the few slightly shrivelled oranges as he reached forward.

He tore a couple of grapes from the vine before pushing the bowl away again. "Why the hell did that asshat tell _you_?”

Sam smirked, brushing the question aside. "You got him anything yet?"

"Don't even get me started on that, Sam!" Dean groaned, stuffing a grape in his mouth. "Cas doesn't want anything, and he gets all pissy when I offer to buy him stuff!"

"Well ... you've been friends for a while, so you've got to have _some_ kind of idea of what to get him, right?"

 Dean slammed his head down against the table's surface. _No. No he did not_.

If only it was that fucking simple. "But if he's gone out and got something awesome, then I'm just gonna end up giving him something really shitty in comparison!"

"Dean, I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I don't think he really cares what you give him, so long as it’s actually from _you_."

Dean closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip. That probably was the truth, but then there was also the fact that Cas didn't actually want anything other than Dean's happiness; and yes, it was incredibly sweet, but it wasn't even Castiel's job to keep him happy anymore, so he shouldn't even be concerning himself with it. And after that whole talk with the guy a few weeks ago, he was trying his hardest to be more positive about life anyway.

If Cas wasn't so fucking stubborn, then maybe Dean would have sorted him out with a present already.

Sam sighed heavily. "I still don’t understand why you haven’t asked him out yet. He blatantly _adores_ you!”

Dean turned his head a little to face the kid, shoving another two grapes into his mouth, scowling. Castiel ‘adored’ him in the sense that he felt Dean was his responsibility. No romantic implications. Simply the idea that he needed to make Dean happy.

He didn’t bother responding to Sam’s little statement, simulating satisfaction with the relationship he and Cas shared at the moment. Part of him really _did_ want to ask Cas out, but it always came back to the fact that if Cas declined, they most likely wouldn’t be as close. He liked their closeness … and Castiel’s naivety that had slowly evolved into something of false misunderstanding. There had been occasions where Dean really had questioned whether Castiel knew they were acting as intimately as they did, and if he was just playing along to keep Dean happy.

It made Dean feel a little nervous when he thought about it like that; almost as if Cas would genuinely let him get away with _anything_ , regardless of its amorous implications.

It took a while, but both of the angels returned, Castiel clutching a strange bag to his chest. It looked slightly worn and faded; the tan colour patchy in places, but Dean imagined that it was what was actually inside it that was his present. He smiled at Castiel softly, raising his head from the table to rest his chin in his palm.

Castiel went an impressive shade of pink, lips quirking slightly before he glanced away. "I'm just going to ..." Cas mumbled, gesturing to the doorway and clutching the bag ever tighter as he scurried out of the room. Dean looked over to Gabriel, watching a bemused expression play on his features.

"I'm just telling you now, Dean-o, if you go snooping for that, he probably will beat the shit out of you," the archangel chuckled, leaning against the sink. "So ... uhhh, don't."

"Got it," Dean murmured, looking back to the doorway. "Was he okay, though?"

"Yeah, he's fine. He just got a little stressed thinking we wouldn't be able to get the damn thing in the first place," Gabriel replied, striding toward the doorway. He paused for a moment, turning to face Dean again. "Oh! But he has something to tell you. Give him a while, though. He got a little excited before."

Dean nodded, stretching a little now that he'd raised his head. "This you off now, dude?"

Gabriel grinned wider, eyes flicking to Sam for a brief moment. "Yeah. Thanksgiving's always a little chaotic with the family. They'll get pissy if I'm not there to help."

"It was nice to meet you, Gabriel," Sam said, turning in his chair to face the archangel fully.

"You too, squirt," Gabriel hummed, taking another step toward the corridor. Dean stood up to see Gabriel out, even though it wasn't really necessary what with the archangel being able to just disappear whenever he wanted.

He didn't actually mind the guy that much. He was easy to talk to, and after their last meeting, he realised that Gabriel was kind of funny. Not only that, but he was nice to Cas, and that was a pretty great factor in Dean’s opinion. "Thanks for stopping by," Dean said, genuinely grateful for Gabriel coming round. He imagined it made Cas somewhat happier in a sense, and it meant that Cas was cured of his headaches for another few weeks. "And for making time for Cas."

The archangel slapped Dean on the shoulder. "No problem. I'll stop by in a couple of weeks to sort out his noodle again, okay?"

Dean blinked, and just like that, Gabriel was gone.

He walked over to the front door regardless, opening it up only to press it closed again, unfazed by the whole magic act. He'd seen Cas do it before, so it wasn't actually that much of a surprise.

Okay, that made him sound like he was totally unimpressed by the whole thing, but he still thought it was pretty fucking cool.

Man, angels were awesome.

 

*

 

It started snowing at about half two, and although Dean rarely believed the weather forecasts, the prediction had been pretty accurate. It wasn't as heavy as they said it would be, and there was most definitely no gale force accompanying it, but within the hour, there was at least a foot of snow outside the door.

Yeah. Dean was definitely not going for a run.

And besides. He had to make a start on dinner.

It didn't take too long to prep the turkey, what with it being smaller than the average size, but he set it in the oven so it could start cooking.

It'd be ready in about three hours, give or take, but yeah. It had a while left to go.

He was mid-way through chopping the carrots when he felt the hands snake around his waist, and he leant back a little, thriving on the warmth Castiel's torso provided. The kitchen was probably the coldest room in the house right now, owing to the fact that Dean had left the window open all night, and had pretty much forgotten to close it until around a half hour ago. He'd run a sink, but it wasn't that helpful, what with the whole not needing to wash dishes anymore, so he couldn't benefit from the hot water whatsoever.

"Would you like some help, Dean?" Castiel mumbled against the back of Dean's neck, tightening his grip somewhat.

"If you really want to help, I'm not gonna stop you," Dean replied, dropping the knife back onto the chopping board. "You okay with cutting up a bunch of vegetables?"

Cas just hummed, and suddenly the hands were smoothing over his sides, settling the fabric into a more appropriate position. "Of course."

Dean grabbed the other board, placing it a short ways away from his own, before stepping over to the cutlery draw to find another knife. Castiel kept quiet, even after Dean handed him the utensil. "Now, be really careful when you're using it. I don't want you hurting yourself."

Castiel looked up at him, tilting his head to the left. "And how exactly do I avoid such a thing."

Dean stared down at the angel, unsure whether he was simply being coy or not.

"Well," Dean started, taking another carrot out of the plastic bag to place on his chopping board, cutting off the tail ends. "You need to watch what you're doing at all times, cos' it’s really sharp and it can ..." He trailed off when Castiel's fingers touched at his own, prising them from the steel instrument gently.

Cas took hold of the knife, stepping in front of Dean's torso and covering his other hand. "It can cut you really bad if you're not paying attention," Dean finished, feeling the tips of his ears burn.

There'd been a few instances over the past few days where Cas had definitely been a little more confident. It was almost like being this close really was normal for them now, and it always made Dean’s stomach flip when the angel was a little more controlling.

He cleared his throat suddenly to disguise his embarrassment. "So ... apparently you have something to tell me?"

Castiel laughed lightly, leaning back against Dean's chest and nudging at the underside of Dean's jaw with the top of his head. "I might leave it a little longer. Perhaps after you show me how to do this task properly."

Dean grinned, flexing his fingers beneath Castiel's hold. "Ah. You want me to demonstrate?"

"That would make things much easier, thank you."

Dean placed his free hand atop Castiel's right to guide the movement of the knife, resting his chin in the crook of Castiel's neck. "Like I said before, you need to be careful," he spoke low, directing the angel's hand toward the food. "But it shouldn't be too hard for you to get the hang of."

Cas hummed again, leaning his head ever so slightly against Dean's once more. "Are you sure? The last time I helped you, I found it rather difficult to understand."

"Then I guess we'll just have to keep practicing until you do."

The angel laughed again, and Dean could feel the heat creep down his neck as he pressed closer. "Yes, I suppose we shall."

Dean just kept praying that Sam wouldn't come bustling in anytime soon, because the kid would _definitely_ have something to say about this.

He'd missed being without the angel's company for the most part of the day, what with Dean attempting to wait for Cas to come down and tell him whatever it was he needed to, so having him here now was great. Well, actually, it was more than great, because Cas was laughing and it was cute, and he was just so close, with those attractive fucking hands touching Dean’s own.

Okay, so he might have a thing for Castiel's hands, but he had even more of a thing for the way Cas looked at him when he turned his head. Those blue eyes were so friggin’ alluring, and they would catch the light every so often, shining with so many different tones. Obviously, he noticed the guy's eyes before anything else, but it was how Cas used them that made Dean feel so fucking aroused: skimming over his lips before flicking back up to hold Dean’s stare, bowing his head a little so he was staring up through his lashes ...

Jesus Christ - Dean was on the verge of cumming in his fucking pants!

"I think Gabriel has grown quite fond of you," Castiel giggled, letting Dean control the movements of his hands slowly. "He spoke very highly of you earlier."

Dean smiled nervously as his jeans became incredibly tight. "What? Gabriel start a fan club or something?"

"We just talked. It was ... fairly interesting."

Yeah. _That_ didn't sound suspicious in the slightest.

But Dean could see the smile on Castiel's face from the odd angle they were standing at, and he couldn't bring himself to question it, knowing that Castiel would tell him if it really was important.

So he got on with finishing the preparation for dinner, being delicate when guiding Castiel's hands, tapping the angel's fingers to move them out of harms way because he knew for a fact Cas was not paying attention. He could see the guy staring at him from the corner of his eye and he tried not to find it distracting, letting himself smile a little as he threw the vegetables into the steamer for later.

“What was it you were saying before? About staring being rude?” Dean nudged the angel with his hip when Cas stepped to the side, apparently to show Dean that he had, in fact, been paying attention; a sardonic grin pulling at his lips.

It was like watching fucking porn; seeing Castiel’s fingers skim over the body of the ingredient, settling them in the centre as he pressed down with the knife a little further along – and it was how lethargic and cautious his actions were! It shouldn’t have been so fucking sensual, but man, Dean had definitely sprung a boner. There was no point denying it: he’d gotten a hard-on from watching the angel cut a carrot into pieces. _That shouldn’t have been a turn-on, whatsoever!_

He took a much needed bathroom break mid-way through Castiel’s little display, jacking off furiously to the thought of those slender fingers running over his shaft, touching him with that same graceful air Cas had applied as he’d seduced Dean with a mundane fucking task.

Dean was merely grateful Cas had finished preparing all the vegetables by the time he returned to the kitchen, dropping the vegetables into the steamer before they began to clean up.

"So how long do we wait?" Castiel asked, swiping at the chopping boards with a damp cloth, brushing the waste into his palm to throw in the trash.

“About two and a half hours,” Dean told him, rinsing the utensils in the sink with the few empty mugs from earlier that morning. “I’m gonna check on it at six though, and then I’ll put all the vegetables and stuff on.”

“And what do you plan to do until that time?” Castiel was closer to him now, touching Dean’s forearm gently through the material of his sweatshirt.

Dean shivered, biting his lower lip as he thought about it. “I might go for a walk.”

“Well, may I go with you? I don’t like it when you leave me behind.”

“Sure,” he smiled, watching Castiel facial expression become that little more joyous. “Go get your coat, and we’ll leave in a couple of minutes, okay?”

 

*

 

"It's cold. There's nothing else that's particularly interesting about it,” Cas sighed, seemingly disappointed.

"That you know of," Dean grinned, linking their arms as they walked toward the stadium. "You'll like it."

The snow crunched with every step, flecks of ice sticking to their shoes and Castiel sidled closer at the sudden opportunity. Dean couldn't exactly feel the warmth from the other man unless their faces came into close proximity. He could feel it radiate from Cas' rosy cheeks despite the chill that ran through the air.

The stadium looked incredible: ground concealed totally beneath the crisp, white blanket; untouched. It was theirs for the taking.

He slowly pulled away from Castiel, stooping down to the floor a few feet away to gather the snow between his palms.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

He stood up, glancing over his shoulder at the angel as he rolled the snow into a small ball. He was actually pretty surprised how oblivious Cas was, seeing as Dean had been in a shit-ton of snowball fights over the years. Cas had to know what was going on. "Step back a little, Cas. It'll hurt less."

"Hurt? What do y-"

Dean hadn't intended for the snowball to hit Castiel directly in the face, but he couldn't help but laugh as the angel fell back into the surrounding snow with a muffled cry. He stumbled over, dropping to his knees beside his surprised companion.

"Shit, Cas! I'm so fucking sorry," he gasped, laughter tainting his words. Cas blinked up at him, face pink and dotted with white. He looked even more beautiful then usual, eyelids fluttering as the snow clung to his dark lashes.

Dean brushed Castiel's cheek with the back of his glove to wipe the icy shards away without hurting the guy. "I'm sorry," he repeated again.

He felt the sudden burn against his neck as Castiel thrust snow down his collar. "Hey!"

And then Cas was pushing him back, straddling Dean's hips as he shoved more snow against his skin. "That wasn't funny, Dean."

Dean couldn't even be bothered to push Cas away, laughing continually as the angel rubbed his gloved hands over Dean's face. Yes, it was cold, but Cas was fucking adorable when he was pissed off.

He grabbed at Castiel's wrists, stalling the movement, but _fucking hell_. He'd completely forgotten just how strong the angel was, in spite of his slight figure, and it was really fucking difficult to stop Cas from breaking free from his hold. 

The angel was smirking, bending forward as he tried to regain control of his arms. "You're not being very fair, are you?"

Okay, that was hot. That was really friggin' hot. His voice was so low and thick ...

"All's fair," Dean grinned, rolling over and wrestling with Castiel until he was on top. "In love and war."

Cas was laughing now, wriggling beneath him in an attempt to sit up and Dean let him, leaning forward to press their foreheads together and smiling when Cas broke an arm free to wrap it round his neck. He had to fight every urge not to kiss the angel right then and there, feeling Castiel’s warm breath against his lips.

" _All’s fair in love and war_ ," Cas sighed, forcing Dean closer. His lips brushed over Castiel's briefly with the sudden movement, sending sparks of adrenaline shooting down his spine. That was the closest they’d ever come to kissing, and here Cas was acting like something as close as that was totally normal! He was just brushing it aside like there was nothing intimate about it in the slightest. "That’s a strange expression."

The angel grinned suddenly, fisting another handful of snow against Dean's face to push him off. Dean clambered away, cursing as more ice fell beneath the collar of his coat. He scooped together another snowball in the process hurriedly, aware that Cas had begun to do the same.

"How do you do it?" His companion asked, seemingly finding it difficult to shape the snow. Dean dropped the one from his hands as he leant down beside Castiel, taking the snow from Cas' hands carefully.

"Just roll it into a ball - but like, squish it a bit so it doesn't break apart," Dean mumbled, demonstrating the simple task and holding the lumpy sphere in his palm. "Like this."

It wasn’t his most elaborate piece of work, but snowballs weren’t exactly forms of art anyway. Snowmen, on the other hand, were another matter. Dean had made some pretty decent snowmen in his time.

“Are you sure you want to start this ‘war’ with me, Dean? You are aware that I am both stronger and more agile than you are. I was trained for battle, and you,” Castiel took the snowball from Dean’s hand, rolling it between his palms slowly. “Were not.”

“Really?” Dean grinned, glancing up to meet the angel’s stare. “You think you’re stronger than me?”

He knew for a _fact_ that Castiel was stronger than him, but flirting a little wasn't gonna hurt.

Castiel's lips quirked slightly and Dean could feel a heat coil in his belly. "You wish for me to prove my worth for you?"

Dean stood up hastily, grabbing a handful of snow as he backed away, smiling. “Why not? I want to know just how multi-talented my angel is.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh, raising an eyebrow.

“Then I guess I’ll find out just how foolish my human is, won’t I?”

 

 


	8. It Was You

Even though I'm on my own  
I know I'm not alone  
Cause I know there's someone, somewhere  
Praying that I make it home  
So here's one from the heart  
My life right from the start  
I need a Home sweet home  
To call my own

_Asking Alexandria_

 

_“So is this news as good as the last?” Castiel asked hopefully, clutching the small tan bag to his chest. It was tattered and old, but it made it all that more charming, and besides: it was keeping Dean’s soul shard safe. He couldn’t wait for Dean to see it; to see how perfect his soul was – how absolutely stunning it looked!_

_Today had been a great day as of yet, and Castiel already had so much to tell Dean. He only prayed whatever Gabriel had to inform him of would be just as exciting as the latest piece of information he’d received, wanting an excuse to talk to Dean in private for longer, although pronouncing such a thing was rather selfish. The last few days had been rather odd, and Castiel wanted things to return to normal. He didn’t want to be so distracted._

_“I hope you see it that way,” the archangel chuckled. “Although I’m not sure whether Dean is okay with me actually telling you ...”_

_Castiel brushed that thought aside, fanning a hand through the air briefly. “I’ve seen pink in other human souls before, so technically I’m asking what the colour means in general – not specifically to Dean.”_

_He was rambling so he stopped, fidgeting nervously with the drawstrings on the bag as he waited for an answer. Dean would be interested to know, wouldn’t he? And it would give them another topic to discuss; something new for both of them, no matter how bizarre it may be._

_And obviously, Castiel had still to find out why he felt so very different, and whether it could be stopped. Gabriel would be able to handle any issue, so it seemed, and although emotions were foreign to angels, he imagined it would be another problem the archangel could solve._

_Gabriel cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, and Castiel waited as patiently as he could, attempting to meet his companion’s line of sight._

_“Pink means **love**.”_

_Castiel tilted his head to the side as he tried to figure out if Gabriel was being serious or not. Gabriel, in spite of his kindness, had a tendency to joke about even the serious of matters. Sometimes it was somewhat refreshing for the archangel to try and make light of the situation, but in this case, Castiel didn’t understand why Gabriel would say something so odd. “No. No it doesn’t. Dean told me he doesn’t love anyone.”_

_Gabriel made some kind of exasperated noise, folding his arms across his chest, “Cas, even **I** know that he wouldn’t confess something like that to you. Surely y –“_

_“Well why not?” Castiel blurted, feeling the tips of his ears burn. “Why wouldn’t he tell me? I know him better than you do, and I can tell you now: over the past few weeks I have gained Dean’s trust enough to have him confess to me what he has been thinking about constantly for the past few years. That includes feelings, future plans – things he hadn’t told anyone else about, so why would this be any different?”_

_The archangel swallowed before a grin broke out on his face, and Castiel could feel the heat wash over his face. “What?” He cried, pushing the hair from his eyes as the wind tugged at the strands, grumbling when it kept blowing back into its initial position should he let it go._

_“You want to know **why** he hasn’t told you?”_

_Castiel scowled, looking off toward the fence. There were a mixture of emotions rolling through him at that moment: anger, irritation, and perhaps a little envy. It was the kind he felt when Dean paid what Castiel thought of as ‘too much’ attention to the customers at the bar, the kind that Castiel knew was ridiculous and confusing and actually made him feel a little bit ill._

_He looked down at the bundle in his arms, twitching the material open somewhat to stare at the pink and gold stone glimmering away at the bottom of the bag. Of course he wanted to know why Dean hadn’t told him – but more importantly, he wanted to know who it was, even if it was none of his business. That being said, he knew everything else about the man, so it wasn’t like knowing this one fact would jeopardise the rest of their friendship._

_“Tell me,” he demanded, watching the golds spin across the centre of the orb. He wanted to touch it but he didn’t know what kind of reaction it would produce. He didn’t want to alarm Dean in any way, owing to the many years without having his emotions tampered with. And besides, Castiel was still upset. Why should Dean be treated to something so nice when he had been keeping secrets?_

_“ **You’re** the one he loves, Cas. That’s why.”_

*

“You’re an idiot,” Castiel murmured, shoving Dean back against the snow. It burnt at the back of his neck, but he managed to ignore it when Castiel lay atop him, finding the gesture of Cas crossing his arms over Dean’s chest and resting his chin above them somewhat distracting.

“And you’re a cheat,” Dean countered, folding his arms behind his head to get comfortable. Castiel had totally won that. Dean should have probably known that running away would get old eventually – especially since Cas didn’t run after him. The guy had simply followed him around, that slight smirk playing on his lips as he plotted some sort of battle technique. It was fairly obvious that Cas wasn’t fast when it came to running, but _fucking hell_ : could he _dodge!_ Virtually every snowball Dean had thrown his way had been avoided, and Cas was pretty fucking quick to throw them back – and to top it all off, Cas had a way better aim.

It was almost like Castiel had been mocking him in a way; never really trying to hurt Dean, but still kicking ass at the whole snowball fight side of things. Dean had stupidly slowed down to match Castiel’s speed, surprised at how very graceful Castiel’s movements were when moving out of the way of oncoming snowballs. Dean imagined that if Cas hadn’t been wearing the trench coat, he would have probably been able to avoid everything, what with it waving about in the wind and snagging at his calves on occasion.

But the closer Cas got, the easier it was to hit him ... but that might have been down to the fact that Cas seemed to stop trying altogether. Dean might’ve gotten a little cocky toward the end, and that’s kind of how he’d ended up on the floor. With Cas on top of him. Again.

“I didn’t cheat. You let your guard down.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m an idiot though.”

The angel grinned, meeting Dean’s gaze. “Debatable.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, feeling a similar smile tug at his lips. It was hard not to smile, especially when Cas started laughing, sitting up again to brush the icy shards from both of their coats.

“Your soul looks wonderful today, Dean,” Castiel spoke softly, poking him lightly in the chest with a gloved finger. “There’s a lot of gold.”

“Is that good?” Dean queried, propping himself up on his elbows. Their positioning was a little odd, given that Castiel’s weight settled solely on Dean’s pelvis, but Castiel was moving off of him now, probably thinking it uncomfortable.

Castiel nodded, sitting beside him. “It’s very good. I haven’t seen it this bright since you were a child.”

Dean felt the angel rest against his side and their heads bumped, Castiel’s thick hair decorated with dozens of snowflakes and droplets of water, making Dean shiver when they touched at his skin. Cas was warm though; even if his damp hair was cold, Dean could still feel the heat. Castiel was basically acting like a comfy little radiator.

“Well ... I feel better, y’know?” Dean admitted, sitting up properly to sling an arm round Castiel’s shoulders. “I can’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed.”

“So you really are benefitting from my helping you?” Cas queried, turning his head so their eyes could meet. Even though Cas wasn’t exactly smiling, his eyes displayed some kind of excitement, and a warmth that gave Castiel that continuous glow.

Dean smiled. “Cas, I’ve benefitted from just having you hang out with me. Sure, you working will help me out in terms of the bills – which is a fucking massive relief – but I think it’s just you being here in general.” He shrugged, glancing away when the blush darkened Castiel’s cheeks, making the colour from the cold that much more prominent. “So I wanna say thank you, cos’ I think you’re amazing for making me feel way better than I have in years.”

Castiel reached across him, taking his free hand from his lap and linking their fingers together in spite of the thick material of their gloves. “Do you still want to know what it was I was going to tell you before?”

Dean nodded, shivering again as a bout of frozen wind tore at his clothing. “Can you tell me on the way back? Unless you wanna stay here for a little longer?”

“No. I’m starting to find it too cold myself,” the angel replied, struggling to his feet and pulling Dean up. He was smiling now – a shy smile that almost matched the look in his eyes – and Dean could feel the heat roll through him when it was aimed in his direction.

They began to walk back across the pitch, keeping their hands linked as the snow crunched beneath their shoes. Dean knew that he should probably buy Cas some shoes of his own, because those sneakers most likely weren’t the right size. He felt a little harsh for making the angel wear stuff that didn’t even fit properly, but once he started working properly he would buy the guy a friggin’ wardrobe of his own. They couldn’t go on sharing clothes forever, as hot as it was to see Cas dressed in oversized band merch.

Castiel stayed quiet for a short while, even after they made it onto the sidewalk. Dean just took it to mean that Cas was thinking about what to say. He was curious; because Cas had pretty much withheld it all day, and this was actually something Dean could be told without having to trust anyone excessively.

But Dean did trust Cas a little more than before. Being able to talk about himself and how he was feeling so freely had definitely been more therapeutic than he’d initially thought – and he had learnt a little bit about the guy, as utterly heartbreaking as it was to actually hear about that sort of thing.

“So what is it you wanted to say?” He asked, meeting Castiel’s line of sight as they crossed the road. He returned the smile when Castiel grinned up at him again, squeezing his hand and urging him to walk faster. It really was getting cold ... or, rather, they were only just starting to notice just how cold it was. Running around had definitely kept Dean warm for the most part, and obviously having Castiel lean against him afterward had given him a moderate source of heat, so now he was pretty much exposed to the cold air. He kind of wished he’d worn a scarf, or that he’d avoided pissing Cas off enough to get snow shoved down the back of his neck in the first place.

Castiel exhaled heavily, his breath turning visible before them as a tiny swirl of mist. “I personally did not believe Gabriel when he first informed me, given our short time together and the many problems we have encountered as of yet, _but_ , it seems that you have no need for your antidepressants anymore.”

Dean felt slightly light-headed, trying his best not to freak out because that was big fucking news. Dean had been taking medication since he was fucking sixteen years old, so to be told that he was _cured_ of his depression was friggin’ amazing! He’d heard of people having to go through hypnosis to be cured, but never from meeting someone! Sure, it was probably possible, but _Jesus Christ_!

“You’re serious? Like, I never have to take them again?!” Dean cried, stepping in front of the angel, unable to hide his smile – fuck, he didn’t even want to hide his smile, knowing that this was probably a pretty big deal for Cas too.

Castiel nodded hurriedly and Dean threw his arms around the guy’s shoulders as fast as he could, holding onto Castiel tight and listening to that sweet fucking laughter. “You’re incredible, man! Absolutely fucking incredible!” He blurted, kissing Cas hard on the cheek.

“Why are you giving me all the credit?” Castiel continued to laugh, pushing at Dean’s chest a little. “I only altered your emotions once!”

“I don’t care what you did, Cas – do you honestly think I got happy on my _own_?”

Castiel shrugged in Dean’s hold, his shoulders barely lifting under the weight of Dean’s arms. “I don’t see why not.”

"Okay ... well, you know how you keep saying that my soul's bright now and stuff; what did it look like before we met?" He’d had been meaning to ask for a while, what with Cas saying he could see happiness and all. Dean had most certainly not been _this_ happy before he'd taken the adorable stranger under his wing, so it had to have looked different, right?

"It ... it was very blue ... and quite dim in terms of intensity," Castiel mumbled, his arms snaking around Dean's waist beneath his coat, pulling their bodies together. Dean grinned in response, brushing his lips over the angel's temple. Cas was still shivering, and Dean couldn't blame him because the wind was getting quite rough now, snowflakes billowing about them as the gale tore at their clothes. Dean was shielding the guy from the most of it, his arms forming a barrier around Castiel's head whilst his body blocked the force.

"What does it look like now, Cas? I want you to tell me exactly how it looks now."

"It’s more pink than anything else, Dean, but that gold is just as stunning. They're sort of melding together in the centre - almost like they're trying to form an even more impressive colour ..."

Dean continued to listen to Castiel's little description, smoothing his hands over the angel's biceps as he went to pull away. For a change _that big_ to happen to his soul ... well, it was pretty fucking obvious it was all down to Cas. "Would you care to tell me exactly what it is _I_ did to make my soul change?"

Castiel looked up at him, pouting. "I ... I'm not taking the credit, Dean."

"Can you not think of a reason, Cas?" Dean teased, pulling Castiel's arms from around his waist to hold his hands. "Is that because you did everything for me?"

Castiel grumbled, letting Dean tug him back down the street. "I don’t understand why you think it was all down to me."

Dean stopped walking in spite of the snowflakes that continued to increase in number, sticking to Dean’s face at a quickening rate. Castiel was standing up on the balls of his feet almost instantaneously to push their foreheads together and Dean grinned, smoothing down the folds of Castiel’s bizarre trench coat. Admittedly, from behind, it made him look like a flasher, but it was really fucking difficult to imagine the guy doing anything of the sort in the first place so it wasn’t that fun to think about anymore. “Did you pay attention to what I said before? About you making me feel happy from just being around? Well, you’ve been an amazing fucking friend – _that’s_ why I’m as happy as I am today.”

There was a pause, and Castiel simply blinked up at him, those blue eyes all wide and curious, almost like Cas was trying to catch Dean out, by looking for the lie that wasn’t there.

"I'm glad I make you happy, Dean," Cas announced finally. "And I want you to know that you make me very happy too."

Dean nodded, dipping his head to kiss Castiel’s cheek again, lightly this time. Castiel pretty much giggled, and that had Dean’s stomach doing flips as they began their walk back. He couldn’t help but glance down at the angel every few seconds, smiling stupidly at the subtle happiness still present in Castiel’s eyes, and he dropped one of Castiel's hands so they could walk side by side, not really caring how much snow hit him in the face.

To think his year had started off so shitty, and now he was being told he’d been cured of his depression – it was just awesome! Cas had made it seem so simple.

The weather became somewhat fiercer as they passed the local Wal-Mart, and Dean figured if they didn't get home soon, they'd be in a bit of trouble. For starters, it would take forever to dig their way back into the house if the weather got any worse, and then there was the issue of the turkey.

Dean trusted Sam and all, but Dean could not risk letting it burn. Not for Cas' first Thanksgiving.

"You up for running home, dude?" Dean queried, nudging the angel with his elbow as he picked up the pace again. It would do them both good, in the sense that it'd make them feel warmer, and then it was a quicker way of getting home, so it would incidentally be somewhat beneficial.

"I'm ... not very good at running. I-I'll try, but I apologise in advance for being so slow."

"We don’t need to run that fast, so you don’t have to worry about being slow. It’s just if we don't get home soon we'll have to stay outside for longer to clear the snow away - and you're freezing, so it isn't exactl -"

Dean was cut off as his arm was yanked forward, Castiel already running ahead with something of a smirk on his face. Dean matched his speed, finding it difficult to maintain a steady pace with the snow reducing his movements. Cas seemed to be coping okay, laughing when Dean stumbled a little and grabbing his elbow to keep him steady.

 

*

 

Castiel recoiled when the damp shirt hit him in the face, stumbling backwards a little and catching the fabric in his hands.

“That’s what you get for shoving ice down my back, asshole,” Dean laughed, peeling his jeans from his legs and grabbing clean clothes from the open drawer.

Castiel threw it back as he went to remove his sweater. “Do you want me to compile a list of everything you did to annoy me, or is rubbing snow over my stomach enough to make you aware of how _very_ close you came to having snow shoved down the back of your pants?”

Dean laughed again, kicking the jeans away. “That just an excuse to grab my ass?”

Castiel shook his head, pulling at the hem of his sweater slowly. The material was sodden and uncomfortable, sticking to his skin as he lifted it up. Dean had thought it a good idea to engage in yet another fight before they eventually went inside, and although Castiel had been tempted to just tackle the man again, it was more fun to make Dean think that he had won.

Even though that was how it did eventually pan out.

His stomach had beared the brunt of his efforts though, tarnished with the sharp ice as they’d lain on the ground. And to think that Dean had called _him_ a cheat.

The skin was mildly sore, and rather red, but it wasn’t unbearable – and besides, the ‘fight’ (if that was the appropriate term, although it was more similar to that of a game than anything else) had been enjoyable. He hadn’t thought that such a fruitless task would allow him to get as close to the man as it had today.

And obviously, the knowledge that he’d made Dean happy enough to cure him of his illness was enough to have him more excited than he could ever remember. He’d thought it’d take longer – months, perhaps – before Dean even began to show signs of healing, and although they'd had very few conversations concerning how Dean was feeling, he hadn’t expected a result so soon after the first.

And Dean had most assuredly come very far in terms of trust. It was subtle, but yet so obvious; random pieces of information hidden amongst his words that had an air of reluctance, but just knowing that Dean was _trying_ to tell Castiel everything he felt was enough.

Well, Dean apparently wasn’t very open about _all_ of his feelings, but Castiel didn’t particularly mind that. He was actually beginning to find it quite amusing.

Castiel tugged the sweater over his head, giving Dean a sidelong glance and a smirk as he worked the sleeves from his arms. “Are you actually going to get changed, or are you planning on watching me undress for the next five minutes?”

Dean’s face went almost as pink as his soul but he quirked an eyebrow. “It’s gonna take you five minutes to change out of a pair of jeans?”

Castiel grinned, flicking his gaze to Dean’s soul again.

He should have been more surprised than he actually was, seeing as he’d never felt this way before, but it was exciting yet confusing and it had a bizarre sort of electricity dancing over Castiel’s skin when his eyes met Dean’s.

Well, it had been rather similar before he had been blessed with the knowledge that such a feeling was reciprocated, but just knowing that Dean wanted the exact same things (although Dean had been somewhat more adventurous in terms of his desires) had his heart racing faster than normal. There were moments where he just couldn’t help but smile, amazed that he could make Dean feel such a way.

Castiel had noticed gestures in the past that insisted that what Gabriel said was true, language that may or may not have had underlying meaning, depending on whether Castiel paid close attention to how Dean spoke such things – he wasn’t an expert on the subject, but there had been more than a few occasions where he’d thought about Dean’s feelings toward him, as vain as it was.

“I’m not sure ... they’re more clingy since being soaked by the snow,” Castiel murmured finally, popping open the fastener of his jeans with one hand. Dean’s eyes became somewhat darker and Castiel ducked his head as he tugged on his zipper, suddenly very self-conscious.

He himself was very fond of the man – but he hoped that much had been made obvious already. Dean was the first member of his charge that Castiel had really seen for more than just the colour of his soul, and although Dean’s history, future, and the strong bond they shared all contributed to that fact, Castiel was glad he had let himself become so attached, in spite of everything the others’ had said. Dean’s friendship was something he’d merely anticipated, but love ... that was another matter entirely.

Admittedly, he had thought about what a stronger bond with the man would be like, knowing that if he _was_ to choose a partner, Dean would most likely be it.

And it wasn’t purely because bonding with Dean would make the issue of monitoring his happiness far easier than if he were to bond with someone different, but more so the fact that Dean genuinely did care about him.

Of course, he hadn’t thought that Dean cared for him as anything more than a friend, but now that he knew of Dean’s feelings, the angelic bond was a thought he’d returned to numerous times on that day alone.

Obviously, Dean was not an angel, but that didn’t mean the bond wasn’t possible. Rachel had bonded with a demon, as peculiar a bond as it may have been, and they were of two different species. A demon was relatively close to a human, in terms of them both possessing human souls at one point or another. How they had actually sealed the link was a mystery, since a demon’s soul is something of pure waste, settling deep in the chest like the remnants of coal.

With Dean, however, it would be somewhat simpler ... or rather, it should be. A soul was the equivalent of an angel’s Grace, so it should be fairly malleable in terms of tying them together.

That is, if Dean _wanted_ to strengthen the bond. It wasn’t obligatory, after all, and he wasn’t going to force the man to do anything.

There was suddenly a knuckle under his jaw and a thumb on his chin, his head being tilted up carefully by Dean’s gentle hands, “You feeling okay, Cas?”

Castiel grazed Dean’s features with his eyes, taking in the underlying worry and distress that was rather unsettling to see. Castiel did not feel _bad_ , but the knowledge he had been provided with that morning had most definitely altered the way he behaved around the man. He had been quite distant for most of the day, and he’d found their contact over the past week or so to be that diminutively bit more intimate than their usual interactions. He was merely attempting to match Dean’s forms of affection so not to seem inconsiderate or ungrateful, but only earlier did he realise how such associations meant so very much to the man.

Now, of course, he imagined he could be a little more daring, aware that Dean would not complain if they did cross the boundaries of friendship, given that they’d crossed that line some time ago regardless. He smiled up at the man, taking the hand from his jaw to hold it in his own. “You worry too much, Dean,” Castiel informed him, prodding him in his bare chest, “Now get dressed and stop staring at me.”

“But then I’ll miss your strip tease,” Dean grinned, poking him back.

Castiel rolled his eyes, dropping Dean’s hand as he pushed the denim from his own hips. “You wouldn’t be missing much if you did, in fact, look away.”

He watched the way the Adam’s apple fluctuated in Dean’s throat, appearing incredibly close to the skin as that blush worked its way over his neck. Dean stepped back to pull on the fresh pair of jeans, muttering to himself as his fingers fumbled with the fastener. Castiel huffed out a laugh, finding Dean’s fluster to be relatively amusing. The man wasn’t usually as nervous as this, yet the sight of Dean being so very timid had a heat coiling in Castiel’s belly.

He reached over to brush Dean’s fingers aside, slipping the button through the hole, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Dean’s features. The man was avoiding his stare, a flush touching at his chest when Castiel had finished, linking their hands together. “Are _you_ feeling okay, Dean?”

Dean’s behaviour wasn’t exactly a mystery to Castiel any longer, so Dean’s submissive response was not surprising, but he thought nothing ill of feigning ignorance, interested in the result. In a sense, Castiel wanted to tease Dean; he wanted to treat the man in the same way he had been treated himself earlier on in their friendship, and already it was having a rather humorous effect. The dominance Dean usually held over him slipped as he became more uncertain in terms of Castiel’s actions and intentions.

Castiel had to admit, he liked this kind of power.

“I’m fine.”

Castiel smoothed his hand over Dean’s stomach, stroking the firm muscle with his fingertips. Dean had done this to him once or twice in the past – perhaps not as close to the waistband as Castiel’s fingers played, but the gesture had still been rather confusing, if not pleasant should Dean choose not to apply pressure.

He felt Dean tremble, and he reminded himself of the many times even the simplest of Dean’s touches had produced a similar effect on Castiel, the gentle caresses on his skin making him shiver when he wasn’t necessarily cold: a bizarre yet intriguing way in which his body responded to intimacy.

Dean still hadn’t pulled away, his breaths brushing Castiel’s forehead lightly as Castiel moved his hand higher to rest it over Dean’s soul, eager to sense the emotions with a little more clarity.

“You’re acting different,” Dean mumbled, a slightly questionable tone to his voice as he seemingly became interested in the way Castiel’s digits splayed across his solar plexus. “Not that it’s a bad thing,” he added hastily, and Castiel could feel the quickening heart rate beneath his palm, ignoring the delightful sensations for a moment as that strong muscle beat faster than Castiel could remember it doing so before. He wondered if it was because Dean liked this touch, or because they were so close; not once disregarding the fact that Dean was also relatively fond of Castiel’s form, and it wasn’t as if he was leaving much to the man’s vivid imagination, given the very little clothing he was wearing.

Another thing Gabriel had shown him were a few ... rather interesting scenarios, and Castiel had initially found it very embarrassing for the archangel to have witnessed such collaborations. Embarrassment soon turned to amusement, and Castiel found himself asking to see more of Dean’s private thoughts and opinions, knowing full well that the man would not share those dreams with him should he ask.

Castiel hummed. “I’m glad it’s not a bad thing.” He leant closer, perhaps a little too close to be considered at all innocent, but Dean had that nice scent about him today: the one of that heavy fragrance Dean insisted he applied before dressing, mixed with a vague, underlying musk that had Castiel feeling incredibly warm and rather light-headed.

Everything about Dean was nice.

 

*

 

It didn’t take long for the food to cook, and Castiel soon found himself seated beside Dean at the kitchen table, staring down at the pile of food on his plate. Although he had gone without any type of nourishment all day, he doubted he would be able to finish everything he had been given. He would give it as best a try as he could, but it would be a struggle.

Sam and Dean were laughing about something or other as they settled into their chairs comfortably, Sam in the near chair opposite Castiel, given the round surface of the table itself.

The pair began to bicker after a short while, owing to Dean’s refusal to state what he was thankful for. Castiel didn’t understand the need to say it aloud, but he himself had claimed his thanks for being welcomed into the home and being permitted to stay. Dean had laughed, saying that it was what friends did, a slight warmth to his words that had Castiel ducking his head in embarrassment.

Sam had looked at him oddly after that, and Castiel wondered if their friendship would change should Castiel become romantically involved with the older Winchester. The fact that Sam still teased Dean about his intentions toward Castiel implied that the boy would not be uncomfortable with it, but that could change. Castiel didn’t know what this future held.

“So, Cas. Do you usually spend Thanksgiving with your family?” Sam asked, a slight smile to his face as his gaze flickered to Dean for a moment.

Castiel took a sip of his water, setting the glass back down on the wooden surface before picking up his cutlery. “No. We, uhhh, we don’t really get along.”

Sam nodded understandingly and Castiel immediately felt more relaxed. He’d expected questions relating to family some time ago, so to finally address the topic and get matters out of the way was something of a relief.

“You have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have two brothers and a younger sister,” Castiel offered, twirling the fork between his fingers.

It wasn’t entirely a lie, more so a distortion of the truth. When angels are taken from their parents, they are brought up in something of a nursery until their wings are unsheathed. Castiel had shared a room with three others, and although they had not been related, nor had they been friends, they had been the closest thing Castiel had to calling family.

He could feel Dean’s stare so he turned his head a little to meet the man’s gaze, trying to smile as best he could. Dean looked concerned and Castiel found it difficult to maintain his cheerful appearance whilst they exchanged eye contact, so he glanced back down to his plate, cutting into the meat he had been provided with.

Sam spoke up again, his tone softer than before. “Did you guys have a fight or something then?”

“Sam,” Dean warned suddenly, and Castiel put down his cutlery for a moment to scratch at his brow.

“No, it’s alright, Dean,” he murmured, before turning his attention back to Sam. The boy didn’t look as excitable anymore and Castiel felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. “To be perfectly honest, I never really got along with my siblings. Anael was somewhat sympathetic when I told her of my plan to leave home, but the others got a little ... upset.”

There was a pause and Castiel reached for his drink again, the room suddenly very warm and somewhat uncomfortable in terms of atmosphere. He wondered whether he should have said that or not, knowing that family matters were also a sensitive subject for the Winchesters also.

Dean cleared his throat. “Is, uh, Anael your sister?”

It felt odd to call Anael his sister. As a fledgling he had thought of how they could grow together, fight together, and perhaps even one day become bond mates. That ideal had dissipated relatively quickly, but he had always hoped she would be the one to see past his wings.

He nodded before taking another mouthful of water. He didn’t like lying to Dean anymore than he liked talking about his past, and he knew that he would have to tell the man of the false relation sooner or later, otherwise Dean would get the wrong impression when Castiel eventually showed him their old companionship.

“Do you all have strange names?” Sam asked in a less subdued manner, followed by a thump and a yelp which Castiel took to mean as Dean kicking the boy under the table. He couldn’t help but laugh, figuring that the topic of names would be somewhat lighter than that of family.

“We’re named after angels,” he informed the younger Winchester, placing his glass down to pick up his cutlery once more. “Although I understand why you think our names strange. I would have preferred something different, myself.”

He stabbed at the piece of meat he had cut before to lift it with his fork, blowing the steam away before putting it in his mouth.

Sam spoke up again. “So what kind of angel is ‘Castiel’?”

Castiel smiled, swallowing his mouthful of food. “He’s the angel of Thursday.”

“So you’re devoted a day of the week, huh?” Dean paused suddenly. “Hold on.”

The man dropped his fork to the table as he rummaged through his pocket, drawing out his cell phone. He began to tap away on its smooth surface, before clearing his throat again as he seemingly read from its tiny screen. “Says here Castiel’s also the angel of tears, solitude, and temperance.” Dean snorted with laughter. “ _Temperance_? That’s totally not like you, man – ‘specially since you got pissed again the other night!”

“That wasn’t my fault, Dean. I didn’t realise the beverage had such a high alcohol content,” Castiel scowled, moving his food about his plate with the back of his fork nervously. He watched Sam walk around to look over Dean’s shoulder, apparently finding whatever it was they were reading relatively humorous.

Dean continued to read aloud. “He brings comfort to those in ‘dark hours’ and reminds them of good times past and ...” Dean’s voice had become somewhat lower, thicker, and when Castiel glanced over, Dean’s smile had mollified into something gentle and fond. “... and leads them to the good times to come.”

Castiel’s mouth felt incredibly dry and he reached for his glass again. He didn’t understand where they were getting that kind of information from, or how humans had deemed him as such in the first place, but it was embarrassing and rather disturbing and a sudden dread of his entire life history being in Dean’s hands at that moment had him panicking.

He plucked the phone from Dean’s hold quickly, surprised when Dean didn’t complain or retaliate as he stared at the peculiar rectangular layout. He’d never handled a phone before and he was unsure of how it operated, but he could read the text on the screen and that was the most important factor in his opinion.

The description of him was poor and inaccurate, and he hated how someone had thought themselves to have known him well enough to write down such ludicrous statements. What surprised him most were the varying religious depictions, his personality apparently differing depending on what belief the human abided to.

And his _gender_ , so it seemed.

There wasn’t anything written of his actions, which was a relief, although it did mention his appearance and he grimaced as he read over the apparent manifestation. Over the years he’d grown less and less fond of his black feathers, but to read that some thought them to be a silvery pink in colour had him unimpressed and rather offended.

Whoever wrote such dire ‘information’ was idiotic and abject, although he wouldn’t mind hearing how they chose to describe Uriel, if Castiel’s depiction was anything to consider ridiculous.

“I want to read what Uriel’s name means,” he stated, thrusting the phone in Dean’s face. The man laughed, taking it from his hand gently and dragging his thumb over the surface.

“I wouldn’t mind reading about that fucktard,” Dean commented, tapping the screen quickly. “And who was the other one? Raphael, right?”

Castiel nodded, dragging his chair closer so he could lean on Dean’s arm, cushioning his head on the man’s shoulder as he watched the coloured sentences scroll over the screen’s surface. They’d been this close only half an hour ago on the couch, and he’d missed Dean’s warmth, the firm muscle beneath his clothing, and that soft scent. He nuzzled against the man’s neck, eliciting a brief humming noise as Dean pressed a cheek to Castiel’s hair. A layout similar to the previous flashed on the screen, and Castiel could see Uriel’s name printed in that ugly cursive scrawl with the desired information below.

Dean started laughing again, his shoulder jostling slightly as he pointed at a specific line. “He’s got keys to a fucking ‘fairy kingdom’ – what the hell is this shit?”

Castiel couldn’t help but grin, reading on that, according to the researcher, Uriel apparently had a bright purple hue to his feathers. He imagined that hideous green taint of his Grace being abandoned and replaced with a vile shade of violet that hurt to look upon. Castiel would be more ashamed to possess purple wings over his black ones – or even the pink he was thought to have. “I’m not sure these are from a very reliable source.”

Dean only laughed harder, tapping the phone again. “Who else treated you like shit, Cas?”

“Dean, the food’s gonna go cold if you keep –“

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean interrupted, pressing a button to make the screen go black. Castiel stayed as he was seated, not really wanting to move away. Of course, Dean seemed to be in the same mindset, linking their hands beneath the table when Sam walked back around to the other side, unfazed by the peculiar looks Sam was shooting their way.

Castiel brushed it aside, knowing that the boy meant no offense through his stares, and instead he concentrated on the way Dean’s fingers toyed with the electronic object. He was seemingly making the man nervous, and as much as he liked resting against Dean in such a way, if he was only going to make the man uncomfortable, then he would happily leave him be.

He sat up properly, squeezing Dean’s hand before letting go and moving his chair back to its initial position. He knew that Sam’s expression was also another factor in terms of making Dean uncomfortable, but Sam had more of a knowing look on his face, an appearance that posed no threat even if Dean did find it unsettling.

They continued to eat as if nothing had distracted them, although the food wasn’t anywhere near as warm as it had been prior. In a way, it made eating it that much easier, and it wasn’t like the flavour had been impaired by the cooling down of the meal.

It was nice – not just the food, but the company too. It wasn’t often that they dined in the kitchen, other than for breakfast or lunch, and even then it was rare for both Winchesters to be present, mainly because of Dean’s work hours, but still ... over an evening they usually ate in the living room with the television on. Castiel often felt like he was the one preventing any kind of conversation between the brothers, given the way both Winchesters had acted without company.

Sam talked about school after a little while, and Castiel found himself amused by Sam’s love of learning, hearing of his favourite classes and the topics they’d covered. The boy was so very different to Dean in terms of his likes and dislikes, but Castiel was enthralled by what the boy had to say. For someone of such a young age, Sam had an incredibly high level of intelligence and understanding – more so than that of a few angels Castiel knew of.

It was impressive, and Castiel found himself questioning Sam’s historical knowledge. They’d discussed history before, but it had been more-so to aid Sam with his homework rather than for genuine amusement. It was surprising to learn that the extent of Sam’s knowledge surpassed Castiel’s, in spite of the age difference between them and also the fact that Castiel had witnessed multiple events over the past few hundred years. Of course, Castiel knew about the eras before his time – to ignore the earlier history would be ignorant and rather stupid, what with it consisting of recordings since the first day of creation – so it was nice to find someone who found the history of religion just as interesting as that of technology.

“What did I do to get stuck with you nerds?” Dean grumbled, standing up to refill his glass at the faucet.

Castiel shrugged, laying down his cutlery in the centre of his plate to indicate he had finished eating. ‘Finished’ was a term used lightly, seeing as Castiel had managed a little over half of his serving, but he truly felt incapable of eating any more. “That’s rather nescient of you, Dean. I don’t complain when you talk about your beloved _Dr. Sexy MD._ ”

Sam snorted when Dean spun around abruptly, and Castiel could see the familiar blush that stained his cheeks so soon after the utterance, spreading to his ears at a rapid pace. “I-I don’t love him. He’s just a character on a show!”

“Oh please!” Sam chortled. “Just because he’s fictional doesn’t mean you don’t want to get in his pants!”

“What? Like you and your massive crush on that Lydia girl from Teen Wolf?”

The boy continued to laugh. “What is it with you and deflecting attention? Lighten up a little.”

Dean scowled, turning back to face the sink, and Castiel rose up from his seat to walk over. He hadn’t meant for Dean to become so irritable, so he simply touched at the back of Dean’s neck as he stepped beside the man, turning his head should Dean choose to look back at him. It didn’t take long to create eye contact, and Castiel ran his fingers down Dean’s spine as he leant closer. “You know,” he whispered, wetting his lips. “I was referring to the television show, not the character itself.”

He grinned when Dean elbowed him away. grabbing onto the man’s hand in spite of Sam’s view of the gesture. “Why are you getting upset?”

“I’m not getting upset,” Dean muttered, and in a way, Castiel knew it was true. Dean’s soul hadn’t changed, perhaps it had become a little dimmer, but the difference wasn’t anything to be concerned about. But embarrassment counted as a form of upset, didn’t it?

“If you’re not upset, then I want you to smile,” Castiel stated, poking Dean with the forefinger of his free hand. Dean looked at him like he was being ridiculous so Castiel poked him again, taking another step forward as he watched the orb in his chest burst with gold. “Go on.”

Sam was sniggering beside him, still seated in his chair at the table, and Castiel could see the corners of Dean’s mouth twitch as the man glanced to the side. “This is stupid.”

“You said once that if I smiled, you would too,” Castiel prompted, tilting his head to try and catch the man’s eye again. “I’ll take this moment to inform you that I am, in fact, smiling.”

Dean huffed out a laugh and Castiel watched a lop-sided smile take the place of the previous frown, but Dean had turned his gaze down to the floor, still apparently refusing to look at him.  Castiel wondered if it was Sam’s presence that was making Dean so bashful, given the fact that the man was usually less reserved when they were alone together. It was quite amusing actually, to know he wasn’t the only one wanting to tone down their actions in front of the boy.

 

*

 

"So ... film?"

"Dean, if you choose another crappy action mo-"

" _I'm_ not choosing. Cas is."

"You've told him what to pick, haven't you? That's not fair!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I have _not_ told him what to pick. He can choose whatever the hell he wants." He glanced over his shoulder, quirking a smile. "Right, buddy?"

Castiel looked rather surprised, blinking a little more than normal. "Y-you want me to choose?"

"Well, yeah," Dean nodded, swivelling round on the wooden floor to face the angel properly. Cas rose from the settee to walk over, crouching down to lean across Dean's body as he looked at the few DVDs lain out on the floor.

"I don't know. What do you want to watch?"

Sam groaned, when Dean pointed to The Usual Suspects, and it had Dean grinning like an idiot. It wasn't an 'action' film - it was more of a mental one; a film that makes you think. Dean liked those sort of movies, even if he still classed the Star Wars saga as his all time favourites. Every time he watched this film though, he saw something new - things that if he'd looked for in the first place would've made it so friggin' obvious.

A bit like Fight Club. That was another film he wanted to make Cas watch.

"I haven't seen it before," Castiel murmured, but Dean had known that already. If Cas hadn't seen The Little Mermaid in spite of the many times Dean'd had to sit through that shit with Sam, then this was most likely the same. Except better. Obviously.

Dean knew Cas was smart - hell, the guy was a fucking genius - but he wondered if Cas was as quick on the ball as Dean had been when he first watched this film. He'd probably figure it out quite early on, what with him being so very observant, but it'd still be interesting to find out _why_ Cas thought the killer was that person specifically.

"But do you want to watch it," Sam pressed, shoving a couple of cartoon covered video boxes and DVDs Castiel's way. "Because we have loads more to choose from."

"I don’t mind what we watch. I haven’t heard of a lot of these films," the angel replied, sitting back on his haunches. "Do you not like what Dean chose, Sam?"

Sammy looked back down to the pile of films. "Not really - I-I mean, it's _okay,_ but me and Dean like different genres."

Castiel nodded, following Sam's gaze. "What would you like to watch then?"

Dean waited patiently, resting back on his palms to make his position more comfortable. He got what Cas was trying to do, but either way this was going to be disappointing to someone. He just hoped it wasn't him.

"Pirates of the Caribbean."

Castiel nodded again. "Okay. We'll watch that."

"Wait a seco-" Dean blurted, before two cool fingers were pressed to his lips.

_Fuck._

"Sam doesn't want to watch your film, Dean, so we can watch it tomorrow. That is fairer, correct?" Dean pouted and Castiel smiled softly, letting his fingers trail over Dean's chin. "It's just one movie."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam beamed, popping open the DVD case to slide the disk into the player. Dean wanted to complain, but then there was the way Cas smiled over at the younger boy, taking the empty case from his hands to stack it at the top of the movie pile. The way Cas interacted with Sam was something he hadn't really seen before, like, Cas _actually_ cared. Dean had dated some decent people in the past, but he couldn't remember a single one of them considering what _Sam_ wanted, sort of focussing more on their relationship than that they were building with Dean's family. Of course, they'd treated the kid nice, but not to the extent where they were putting Sam's wants before Dean's.

Dean couldn't really give a fuck if he was missing out on something as petty as a movie if it meant Sam was happy.

 

*

 

"Is Dean asleep?"

Castiel turned his head to look at the man, smiling at his softened features, the slow fluctuation of his chest. "Yes," Castiel murmured. "I think so."

He shifted the blanket, dragging it over Dean's chest and shoulders to protect him from the cold.

Sam giggled. "Do you always treat him like a kid?"

“Sometimes he acts rather childish," Castiel grinned over at the boy beside him. "Although he isn't too fond of being told as such."

There was a brief moment of silence as Castiel looked toward the television. The film hadn't been as absurd as the cartoon movie he’d sat through before – it was a little confusing, perhaps, but it wasn't bad. Sam said there were a few films that followed, but Castiel didn't really want to ask about that right now.

"How come you guys are _just_ friends?"

Castiel glanced over at Dean's sleeping form as he collected his thoughts. "You mean why we aren't in a relationship?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "I know it’s not my place to say anything, but I've never seen him as happy as he is around you - and you're always so nice to him. And me. You're just a nice person in general."

Castiel stood up to adjust Dean's position, lifting the man's legs so they rested comfortably on the couch cushions. Sam’s words were flattering, and Castiel was trying his best to keep both Winchesters happy in spite of his prior intentions to aid Dean alone. Making Sam happy seemed to have the same effect on Dean, so it was ultimately beneficial to the both of them. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think now is the right time.”

"But you _do_ like him back?"

Castiel chuckled softly, rearranging the blanket to cover Dean's body. “’Like’ is a rather big understatement.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he faced the younger Winchester again. "I've never really felt this way about anyone before, and it’s ... difficult. I don’t know what to do.”

For the first time in his life, he was clueless as to how to proceed. He knew they could keep going about their friendship as normal, or until Dean plucked up the courage to address his own feelings, because Castiel wasn’t sure _how_ he was meant to let Dean know. The man would most likely think it a joke, as would Castiel if he hadn’t been told, and shown, the truth.

Sam walked over, pulling on Castiel's sleeve to tug him toward the doorway. Part of Castiel didn't want to leave Dean alone, but to break away from Sam would be rude - especially if the boy was guiding him away so not to disturb the man.

"I think you should ask him out on Christmas."

"Christmas?"

"Yeah. The last two haven't been great for us, and I know it would definitely make his year."

Castiel recalled the last Christmas in the Winchester residence. The two boys had waited patiently for their father to return home in the early hours of the day, what with his unhealthy drinking obsession and all, resulting in Sam getting annoyed and Dean bearing the brunt when the drunk returned home. For some obscure reason, John had been furious with Dean and it wasn't fair.

It was never fair.

"How ... uhhh, how should I ask him?” It was embarrassing, having too little knowledge to know how to proceed, but he didn’t want to do it wrong, if there was a wrong way to propose such a thing.

He was bad enough at social interaction as it was. He didn’t want to ruin the one thing he _needed_ to get right!

Sam looked a little startled, glancing away sheepishly. “I dunno. I mean, I told Jess how I felt, but you could always kiss him or something ...”

Castiel didn’t understand how such a gesture could pose as a question, but if Sam was suggesting something of that kind, then it couldn’t be a _wrong_ method of asking, could it? Sometimes actions did speak louder than words.

 


	9. This Crooked Cross Will Never Save Me

 

 

Our guided, our given  
Fed to the sun for all you’re worth without reason  
The force-feeding, false freedom  
Lets find the meaning of peace  
Lets find a reason to live

_While She Sleeps_

 

Dean glanced over at the angel as he wiped his hands on his overalls, watching Cas spin idly on the chair. He didn’t really get how Cas could go for hours without doing anything at all, content just sitting there while Dean worked his way through a couple of cars, finishing off the few models dropped off earlier in the week.

Of course, Cas was listening to Dean’s iPod, but it was just the whole sitting in the same place thing that would piss Dean off. He’d understand if Cas complained, or wanted to stay at home, but it was like, Cas probably did find it dull and pointless. Dean just didn’t understand why he wouldn’t say anything about it.

Boredom did occasionally take its toll on the guy. Boredom or weariness anyway, what with the angel falling asleep at Dean’s workbench every so often, and fucking hell: hearing him snore softly while the customers came in and out of the garage had Dean grinning like a friggin’ idiot. It was just so damn cute!

Waking Cas up had been something of a bitch though, especially since Bobby had chosen that moment to stroll out of the office. Castiel was always clingy when he was drowsy, and he was always drowsy after waking up, so walking out of the garage with the angel grabbing at his shirt was sort of embarrassing.

But he’d rather be embarrassed than not have Cas around at all.

He walked over to the basin, shrugging out of his overalls and washing his hands as best he could. Castiel was watching him now, resting his chin on a palm as his eyes followed Dean about the room.

“Like what you see, Cas?” Dean teased, barking out a laugh when the angel quirked an eyebrow.

But then Cas was smirking, looking down to the pen his other hand was toying as he spoke. “Mmmnn, your soul’s rather pink today.”

Dean could feel the heat touch his cheeks when he grabbed his shirt, waltzing past the work station, and tugging it over his head. He went on to adjust his jeans whilst the angel’s eyes were averted, hating the way the denim scratched beneath his nails when he tried to pinch the material between his fingers. It was the sort of thing that had him wishing he’d shucked off his jeans before pulling on his overalls, but then there was the idea of standing in his underwear in Bobby’s office that put him off every time. It wasn’t _that_ uncomfortable anyway. He wasn’t gonna bitch about the occasional wedgie.

“Still got no clue ‘bout what it means?” He asked, plucking his hoodie from the angel’s lap to cover his bare arms, shivering a little as the fabric settled against his skin.

“When Gabriel finds out, I’ll let you know,” Castiel offered, rising from his seat and striding ahead to exit the building, trench coat slung over his arm. He seemed to have found a shirt that fit him pretty well today. It was that or the guy had started filling out a little, but Dean kind of doubted that fact, having seen Castiel shirtless earlier that morning,

It wasn’t fair – Dean didn’t understand how Castiel managed to stay so toned and amazing without doing anything at all. Cas literally did nothing exercise-wise. Whatsoever.

It was like his workout routine consisted of staring soulfully at a wall for a few hours a week, and _bam:_ perfect abs.

As much as Dean wanted to ask _why_ that was the case, he didn’t want to make it entirely friggin’ obvious that he’d been checking Cas out. No, it was probably all down to angelic metabolisms or some shit like that, even if it didn’t explain why he had such lean muscle.

“You want anything in particular for dinner tonight?” Dean queried, diverting his thoughts as he slid into the driver’s seat of his beloved car. Sam was going to be out later, so there was no point asking the kid what he wanted ... unless he was planning on dining with them at half-ten or whenever it was he was planning on getting back home.

Castiel smiled, looking over as he shook his head. It had become a force of habit, asking Cas what he wanted in addition to asking Sam, even if the angel never actually said anything other than _‘no’_. He didn’t want to make the guy feel awkward by not actually including him in the whole decisive process, because why the hell should he be treated different for not being family? They lived in the same house, Cas had the same rights as they did ... unless he was still abiding to the whole ‘no complaining’ thing, but that seemed to have been abandoned some time ago.

But yeah, Cas was basically like family now.

That’s what he was: family.

 

*

 

It was surprisingly difficult to remain patient. Castiel had thought it would be easier; after all, he’d waited several years to meet with Dean in the first place. He’d merely assumed that waiting a month would be simple: twenty-seven days in which he could think of how he could let Dean know how he felt. The concept was simple, so why wasn’t everything else?

Like the waiting aspect.

And obviously the construction of such a declaration wasn’t very simple either. Castiel had no clue as to how he could tell the man, and obviously Dean’s response would differ depending on the method, and that would affect the overall result of how their relationship would pan out regardless of Dean’s feelings ...

Why were emotions so frustrating?

Castiel rubbed at his hair with the towel to rid it of as much water as he could.

He didn’t know whether he should ask Gabriel about such matters because although Sam had been something of a help, kissing the man was not the wisest way in which he could make his love known.

Love ... it was odd to think that he was in _love_. In love with a human, no less, in spite of the jeering and torment he’d received in Heaven suggesting such a thing. But Castiel hadn’t always felt like _this_ , so he hadn’t been in love from the very beginning.

He couldn’t have. Not when angels were incapable of expressing such an emotion. It was only because he had fallen had his feelings become so strong ... but that suggested having feelings in the first place, and it was so very confusing to think about.

Castiel dropped the towel to his ankles as he pulled on a pair of clean boxer-briefs. He hadn’t needed a second shower that day, but Dean was busy rewriting notes for class, and Castiel had wanted to relax somewhat. Dean could be just as infuriating as emotions sometimes.

But the man was nowhere near as _confusing_ as emotions. Castiel was actually surprised at himself for not picking up Dean’s mannerisms sooner, what with watching him around those he had taken a liking to in the past, and he was actually quite ashamed to say it had taken him so long before he’d even considered such a prospect. It had been _obvious_.

He dressed himself in the familiar sweats and an oversized shirt, always finding comfort in the way the clothing hung from his body loosely. They gave him a peculiar sense of security, for whatever reason Castiel did not know. It could have been solely because he knew the clothing belonged to Dean, but he didn’t really care. It was appealing.

As was having Dean beside him, but that was another kind of ‘appealing’ altogether.

Castiel wandered out of the bathroom, hanging his towel on the side of the bath to use for his shower the following day and bundling his previously worn clothes in his arms to add them to the laundry pile.

Dean was still seated in the living room when Castiel had finished, still writing out the continual flow of information necessary to pass his course. Castiel sat on the edge of the couch, reaching forward to take Dean’s unused iPod from the coffee table as a source of entertainment. Dean just smiled, shooting him a quick glance as he kept writing line after line of his notes.

Castiel unravelled the headphones to fit one of them in his ear, pressing the power button and recalling exactly how Dean had shown him in order to operate the device.

He scrolled down the screen with ease using the delicate dial to select Led Zeppelin, followed by 'Dazed and Confused'. Castiel liked this song, in spite of its varying insinuations about women. He knew that 'Ramble On' was Dean's favourite, although this was probably his own ... but then again, once he’d heard it, he hadn’t really wanted to listen to anything else. It had ultimately prevented him from listening to the rest of the album, and he hadn’t really given himself the chance to experience any more of Dean’s favourite bands.

Nevertheless, he set the song on repeat, resting his chin in a palm as he watched Dean work.

He knew a lot about Dean’s musical taste as it was, regardless of whether he could place the song title to each track the man had played throughout his life. It was actually rather ignorant and utterly shameful of him to admit as such, but he would teach himself properly after he’d listened to his favourite a few times more.

Watching Dean write out notes over and over was oddly therapeutic, and although Dean was well rehearsed in such topics, Castiel was quite proud of the man for being so determined to learn every last detail. It was true that Dean had more knowledge than most of the other members of his course had started out with, but just knowing that Dean wasn’t being as cocky as he had been during his years at high school - that Dean wanted to pass this course more than anything – was wonderful!

Castiel had stopped attending Dean’s classes, content waiting outside in the car. Dean had been easily distracted, and although Castiel now understood why that had been the case, he still couldn’t risk Dean’s education. Not only that, but he felt rather bad for attending the workshops when he hadn’t paid the fee in the first place, even if he wasn’t paying attention to what the tutor was doing. It wasn’t fair on the others.

And besides. Gordon Walker had let Dean be, and that had been the main concern in the first place. So long as Gordon left Dean alone, Castiel didn’t really have an excuse to accompany Dean to classes, no matter how much he wanted to be in the man’s presence.

“What’cha listening to?”

Castiel blinked down at the man, refocusing on his surroundings and holding out the disused earphone for Dean to take. It was nearing the end of the song, and the man went a little pink after a few seconds of hearing it. "Y-you like, uh .. _. Dazed and Confused_?"

Castiel nodded just as the song started up again. He liked the beginning best.

Dean rose from the floor to sit beside him on the cushion, their shoulders bumping for a moment before Castiel decided to lean against the man completely, resting his head in the crook of Dean’s neck. "Do you not like it, Dean?"

"No, no - I just ... of all their songs, the one where Robert Plant sounds like he's having sex is the track you choose to have on repeat?"

Castiel paused the music, pulling out the earphone to face Dean fully and touch at the man's lips, more so for his own enjoyment than to actually silence him. They were soft and plush, and slightly slick with saliva; and then there was the hot pulse of Dean's breath on his skin that had him wishing he'd kept the music playing, imagining each pleasured moan of the vocalist matching with Dean's exhalations. “It’s interesting,” he offered finally, closing his eyes and concentrating on the light sighs Dean made as he pushed their foreheads together. He could hear the breathy laugh and he could feel the smile, taut lips and the smoothness of teeth. He didn't mean to touch Dean's teeth but the man didn't seem to mind, daring to brush his tongue over Castiel's fingertips, and Castiel grimaced, pushing Dean back into the settee and opening his eyes again. "That's disgusting, Dean!"

"Hey, you're the one shoving fingers in my mouth!" Dean blurted, and then he paused. "That came out wrong."

Castiel bundled the nearby blanket over Dean's head, laughing when Dean cried out in surprise.

"You opened your mouth, and you licked me. How exactly was that my doing?"

There was a muffled response, sounding something like 'asshole' and Castiel lay atop his companion, toying with the hem of the blanket. Dean was laughing, his chest rising and falling sharply and Castiel exposed Dean's mouth so he could hear it properly.

"And you call _me_ adorable," Castiel grinned, running his forefinger over Dean's chin.

"What, so you think I'm adorable _now_? I've always been adorable!"

"I think that's the funniest thing I've ever heard."

Dean snorted. "Well aren't you a sarcastic little fucker!"

"Shut up."

"No. Get off me!"

Castiel sat up, straddling Dean's hips. "You're not very polite."

Dean followed pursuit, tearing the blanket from his face and grinning, flashing his teeth. The smattering of freckles stood out against his flushed skin, and Castiel glanced away, feeling rather light-headed with their closeness.

It was a bizarre kind of giddiness that had him meeting Dean’s gaze just a few seconds later, not wanting to seem timid in front of the man. Dean only seemed to grin wider, leaning forward to kiss Castiel on the cheek. “I’m sorry for being rude, then.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh, tugging at the collar of Dean’s shirt with two fingers, touching at the warm skin behind it. “So you should be.”

Dean hummed, drawing back somewhat and ruffling Castiel’s hair. Castiel leant into the gesture, pressing against the palm when it moved to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin almost carefully.

It was times like these that Castiel wished he could read Dean’s thoughts, wondering just what he was thinking when he made his actions a little more intimate, or how he thought Castiel would react in response. Of course, it was more fun to imagine what the man was thinking about without the desired information to aid him. He liked to interpret Dean’s actions more often now.

“You want me to make a start on dinner?” Dean mumbled, resting his other hand on Castiel’s thigh.

“Can I help?”

The man laughed. “Why? You want another cooking tutorial?”

Castiel grinned, recalling the last time. “If you’re offering.”

There was a pause, but Dean was smiling that lopsided smile that had warmth rolling through Castiel’s stomach.

“I’m offering.”

 

*

 

Dean leant back against the counter as he watched Castiel fumble with the dials on the stove. The guy knew what he was doing because Dean had shown him a few times, but in this instance he was merely adjusting the temperature. Dean probably should have been helping more than he was, but Cas seemed to be enjoying himself and there was no way Dean was going to take that away from him. He’d decided to help when Cas asked. Or if he saw the angel doing something wrong, but Cas seemed to have everything under control.

Even though Cas had only worked a few shifts at The Roadhouse as of yet, it had definitely helped in more than one way. Yes, the bills were easier to pay, but now they could afford _proper_ food – like, none of that microwavable shit, but healthier stuff, and it was great because Dean barely ever got to cook, and being able to afford to do so gave him the excuse he needed.

Obviously, they still bought a couple of pizzas and the like, because there was nothing wrong with having junk food every once in a while, but it was definitely a relief to know that Sam could finally have something decent for dinner each day.

“You want a beer, dude?” Dean called over his shoulder as he wandered over to the fridge. He’d bought a few earlier in the week – not enough to get them pissed, what with there being a grand total of five left, but again, there was nothing wrong with alcohol every so often.

“W-wait – what do I do now?” Castiel queried, and Dean turned around after taking two beers from the shelf regardless of whether the angel wanted one or not. He walked back over, glancing down at the pan. “You can leave it simmer now,” he informed him, removing the caps and setting the bottles down on the surface. “And I’ll show you how to do the pasta.”

Castiel nodded, removing the wooden spoon so that the lid could cover the sauce completely, before Dean handed him one of the beers, leaning back against the counter as he glanced up at the kitchen clock. The sauce would probably need to be stirred or something in about five minutes, and it wouldn’t take too long to cook the spaghetti, so they should be finishing up relatively soon.

He looked back to Castiel when the angel pressed a palm to his solar plexus, those long fingers splaying out over his shirt to seemingly cover as much area as possible. Dean took a sip of his beer. “Is it still really pink?”

Cas smiled, nodding. “Can I touch it?”

“Go ahead,” Dean chuckled. He was actually kind of surprised that Cas had asked for once, usually just touching Dean’s chest whenever he felt like it. Well, it was usually over the clothing, but he knew the angel couldn’t actually sense anything when it was done that way. He didn’t really mind having Cas touch him like that because it was harmless, and sure, maybe Cas did derive a little pleasure from it, but Dean derived pleasure from the thought of Cas fucking himself with his fingers, so they were basically even on that ground.

Kind of.

Feeling Castiel’s fingers slide beneath his shirt was nothing new, but he still couldn’t help but shiver, taking another gulp of his beer as the hand settled over his flesh in the exact same way it had above his clothing. Cas, in spite of him doing it before in the past, still had that same cautious touch when he went about it, a concentrated expression on his face that had Dean smirking at the mere sight.

But then Castiel was grinning again, scratching his blunt nails lightly over where the soul was. “Gabriel told me my Grace has a similar appearance to that of your soul now.”

Dean pushed the hair away from Castiel’s forehead with his free hand. “I thought the only Grace you had left was in your blade.”

“So did I, but apparently I still radiate the light.”

“What light?” Dean asked, confused. “Gabriel didn’t have a light around him – and neither did that Hester chick.”

The angel giggled, withdrawing his hand and adjusting the fabric of Dean’s shirt so it hung down straight. “There are lots of things that differ angels from humans, Dean, and our eyes are one of them. That’s why I can see your soul, and you can’t.”

Dean set his beer back down on the counter, side-stepping past the angel to grab the steamer from atop the oven. He hadn’t really thought about the differences between Cas and himself before, only really considering the fact that Cas had wings, and Dean totally didn’t ... and that Cas got special abilities and all that shit when he handled his Grace ... unless those were the differences Cas was referring to in the first place. Dean didn’t really know.

He filled the pot with water heated by the kettle, only to set it back on the stove beside the saucepan. “So what other differences between us are there.”

He fiddled with the dial until it was set on a high heat to boil the water. Castiel had followed him over, having finally picked up his own beer to drink as he observed how Dean went about setting everything up. Dean felt kind of bad, what with his intention being teaching Cas how to do all this on his own, but the guy didn’t seem to mind, otherwise he would have said something about it. Cas was usually quick to take on yet another chore or whatever.

“We have wings, we age at an incredibly slow rate ...” Castiel stalled, and Dean looked over as he reached for the packet of spaghetti. “Our reproduction systems are different, and we don’t have a requirement to eat or drink ... and when we die, we don’t generate a personal Heaven for ourselves.”

“What do you mean ‘reproduction systems are different’?” Dean pressed, watching the angel duck his head. There was something of a blush on his cheeks, and Dean grinned, knowing full well that _the birds and the bees_ topic was one very few people enjoyed talking about.

“The, uhhh, the anatomy of an angel is somewhat different, to ... to allow same sex couples to reproduce.”

“You tellin’ me you’ve got _lady parts_?” Dean choked out, barely suppressing a laugh as the blush darkened. Did this mean Cas could get pregnant? Like, full on round-bellied and all that shit?

 _Fuck,_ that was weird to think about.

“No!” Castiel griped. ” _I_ have the same anatomical reproduction system as you do now.”

“So _before_ you –“

“I am not discussing anything so immaterial with you!”

Dean couldn’t help but burst into laughter, relishing the look of pure embarrassment on Castiel’s face. The angel seemed to realise this, raising a hand to block his expression from view when Dean tried to meet his eye. He felt slightly mean – okay, maybe _really_ mean for making Cas so embarrassed – but the guy had been so confident as of late. It was amusing to see him revert back to his timid self, even if it would only be for a short amount of time.

 

*

 

Dinner was awesome. It definitely turned out better than expected, not that Dean had so little faith in the angel that he thought the meal would be crap, but yeah: it was great.

Cas had been quieter than usual whilst they made the rest of the meal, but he perked up again toward the end, what with him being all proud of himself for making something with virtually no assistance. Dean was pretty darn proud of the guy too, because he really hadn’t expected it to go as well as it had.

The only thing that kind of annoyed him was the fact that Cas tried to do the washing up afterwards. It wasn’t fair for Cas to think he had to clear up every day, and it seemed that no matter how many times Dean told him not to, the guy never gave up. Dean probably shouldn’t have found the offer of help as annoying as he did, but Cas had done so much for him already; it was like, he shouldn’t be doing any jobs around the house. It was Dean’s house anyway, so ultimately the washing up and cleaning was _his_ job. Not Castiel’s.

It came down to the dishes not being done at all, waiting in the sink for the following morning when Cas was still asleep and he couldn’t complain about it. Right now, they were lain on the couch together. Cas was dozing, his head tucked under Dean’s chin whilst Dean watched the first decent show or movie he could find.

Dean didn’t even know what it was he was watching, but then again, he didn’t really care. He wasn’t really in the mood to watch TV anyway.

Castiel wriggled closer and Dean cursed under his breath when Castiel’s hand worked under his shirt again, cold fingertips touching at his ribs.

“Sorry,” came the mumble in response, but Cas didn’t withdraw them or anything, simply shifting around to rest his hand in the small of Dean’s back. In all fairness, it wasn’t too bad, and having warmth from Castiel’s chest seep through him kind of made up for the few seconds of discomfort.

Dean tugged the hem of his shirt over Castiel’s arm from where it had ridden up, concealing his torso before wrapping his hoodie closer, letting himself smile when Castiel’s lips brushed against his neck.

“Cas, if you’re tired I won’t mind if you go to bed,” Dean said, petting the angel lightly on the head.

Castiel sighed. “I never said I was tired, Dean. You’re jumping to conclusions again.”

“What do you mean ‘ _again’_?” Dean blurted, and the angel laughed, sitting up and running his fingers over Dean’s ribs once more.

“You do it quite often: assuming I feel a certain way when you can always just ask. I’m not going to lie about my feelings should you actually question me,” Castiel shrugged, smiling, “But just so you know, I’m not tired. I’m merely appreciating your company.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and the angel smiled wider, lowering himself back down to resume his position. Cas seemed to press closer now, his hand having worked up to lay flat against Dean’s right shoulder blade. Dean chose to reciprocate the gesture, only he rested his hand above Castiel’s clothing because he didn’t need the warmth, so shoving his hand beneath Castiel’s shirt for shits and giggles wasn’t really appropriate.

Sam got back at eleven, which was a little later than Dean had expected, but then again, he knew that Sam wasn’t the kind of kid to go out and do anything ridiculous, so arriving home a little later wasn’t that bad. Castiel was seemingly still awake, _appreciating the company_ for the few hours they’d lain like that. It was odd really, how being in each others company with nothing but silence was, well ... _not-awkward_. It was hard to explain, but it was like, the quiet wasn’t even unsettling – even if the TV was still sounding in the background, Dean hadn’t even bothered trying to watch it again after his and Castiel’s conversation, and they’d just fallen into the pleasant tranquillity.

And it was great, because Dean could tell that Cas didn’t find it weird either (even if it was jumping to conclusions again) otherwise he would have moved or sparked conversation or some shit like that, but he didn’t. He just stayed, drawing patterns on Dean’s skin with his still-cold fingertips.

Dean didn’t really want to move anymore than Cas did, but he wasn’t gonna let the angel crash on the sofa with him, no matter how great the serene company was.

Coaxing Cas to go upstairs was harder than he thought it would be, given that Cas was usually somewhat compliant, but after guilt tripping the guy, Cas finally moved.

The angel was always that bit more amenable when Dean threw his well-being into the equation.

Sam had laughed, having stayed downstairs for a while longer to see what was on TV. For once he didn’t make any kind of comment on the way Dean and Cas lay together, which was somewhat refreshing what with Cas being more on the ball than normal, and he would have probably only asked about it. It’d happened in the past, questions such as ‘ _what does Sam mean friends don’t act this way?_ ’ making everything that tad bit more awkward and leading Dean to bullshit about virtually everything to do with the way he and Cas had acted since actually meeting each other.

“Do you want to sleep in the bedroom with me?” Cas asked, keeping his voice low after noticing Sam’s sudden interest in some news story airing on the TV. Dean had found the question kind of surprising despite having been asked in the past, and he’d sort of assumed that Cas had wanted his space after that. Sharing a bed wasn’t exactly the norm for two grown men, and he didn’t want to have to explain to Sam why he was sleeping in the same bed as Cas when they were just friends. The kid would have even more to say about that than anything in the past – especially if he found out it had happened before. Dean didn’t want any more awkward questions.

“I ... not tonight,” he spoke softly in reply, hating the way Cas’ smile faltered because _man_ , he really did want to have Cas close. The angel was like, the biggest fucking cuddler, and he was so gentle and warm, but it would be taking advantage and he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t fair on either of them if he did.

“Alright,” Cas murmured, dipping down to press their foreheads together. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

Dean nodded, and the angel drew back, standing up. Dean swung his legs over the side of the settee as he watched Cas leave the room, casting a quick glance over to Sam before he began to unbuckle his belt, rising to his feet to push his jeans down. When it had just been him and Sam living alone for the three months prior to Cas showing up, tomorrow have been what they’d called a ‘pyjama day’, even if Dean himself didn't own any pyjamas. He’d worn either the sweats or just his boxers, and obviously since Cas was living with them now, it wasn’t really suitable to wander round in just his underwear all day.

Even though Sam had kept going with their three-month-old Sunday tradition, Dean wasn’t sure if he was ready to get back into the swing of things yet. Not when he got a boner every time Cas so much as breathed on him.

And of course, if Cas was to partake in the weekly event, it would be way more difficult to keep himself from getting a hard-on since Cas had the finest ass he’d ever seen. And felt. Obviously.

“You plan on going to bed anytime soon, Sammy?” Dean queried, dragging the denim from his legs and slinging the jeans over the opposite arm of the couch.

Sam smiled kindly. “How come you didn’t go with Cas?”

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Dean muttered, ignoring the question the kid had responded with. He grabbed the blanket from the floor, running his fingers over the seam as he sat back down. He remembered how very assertive Cas had been earlier because, well, it was _hot_ when Cas was being so playful, yet Dean still had that niggling feeling that maybe Cas didn't know what he was doing, and that would be a little problematic. Like, Dean knew Cas didn't want to find a partner or anything, but if he started treating everyone else he met in the same manner because he thought it was normal, then that could cause a few issues. And Dean didn't want to have to go around explaining to everyone – especially those girls who'd become regulars since they first saw Cas sitting on his own at the bar – that Cas wasn't interested in a relationship ... unless he was, but then that would be super awkward on Dean's part, and it actually made him quite uncomfortable thinking about it.

But Cas was usually quite diffident, wasn’t he? Like, the way he approached each situation with that air of uncertainty, even if he was _trying_ to come across as confident, and the way he didn't understand innuendos or when people were flirting - although he seemed to be getting the hang of flirting himself, talking to Dean with a genuine confidence that only seemed to come out when they were alone together.

When Sam was with them, Cas was almost anxious, and he barely spoke to anyone at work unless he had to. Even then he seemed embarrassed to say anything, like everyone would judge him if he said something odd, even if it wouldn't be as weird as anything Chuck talked about. But Cas, despite his lacking poise and adorable shyness, was a fucking charmer around Sam. It was like, even though he was Dean’s guardian, Cas was also looking out for Sam in terms of happiness too, and that was awesome.

It only made him that more attractive as a person ... personality wise and all that, but he’d always known Cas was a super nice guy anyway, like, considerate and selfless and downright fucking perfect.

“Fine,” Sam sighed. It wasn’t so much out of annoyance because Dean hadn’t actually argued with him enough for that to be the case, but it was more like a sigh of defeat. Dean wasn’t really surprised –  everything Sam had asked him as of yet, Dean had been able to brush off or simply divert the attention. He was good at that: sidetracking and going off on a tangent until Sam got bored or pissed off.

He hadn’t managed to do it as well when Cas was present though, the angel’s stare hot on his skin when he quite blatantly found the topic to be uncomfortable to talk about. _That’s_ what was most surprising about the kid waiting until Cas was out of the room today, because Cas would’ve hung around to hear the answer and Dean wouldn’t have been able to avoid telling them both _something_.

So in a way, he was grateful Sam had waited, but he wasn’t planning on humouring the younger boy with an answer purely because of that fact. Maybe if Sam stopped being so damn repetitive in terms of asking, Dean’d feel more comfortable talking about it, but at this rate, it’d probably never happen.

It wasn’t like he enjoyed talking about the way he felt anyway – hell, he struggled enough with confessing his daily problems to Cas. That was a somewhat different kind of heart-to-heart though, seeing as Dean never really got any responses relating to how Cas himself was feeling. Or anything about his past.

But that was okay. It was getting easier to talk about anything and everything, and if that’s what Cas wanted for them to trust each other equally, then Dean was fine with it. He _felt_ like he trusted Cas now; he didn’t find talking about emotions that uncomfortable, and it seemed to benefit Cas in terms of understanding them, so he felt better about being honest, not wanting to confuse his friend with yet another web of lies.

The whole friendship thing was becoming something of a burden, and Dean wondered if he should just admit he had feelings for the guy. He knew he should have done it weeks ago to get the whole problem straightened out then, because surely Cas would understand a little, and it wasn’t like he was homophobic or anything. All Dean would have to tell him is that it was some crush that’d disappear over the next few weeks, because in Dean’s experience, the whole lust side of things never lasted too long.

It was just the thought of making Cas uncomfortable that put him off though – not because of the fact that Dean liked a dude, but because it was Cas. Dean didn’t know how the angel would take that sort of news – especially since Cas could be teased for it. Not in the sense that Cas liked him, but more so that the other angels would _assume_ that was the case, purely because of Dean’s feelings.

He didn’t want Cas to be hurt anymore than he already had.

 

*

 

Castiel woke with a start, a sharp pain cutting at his shoulder blades as he glanced at the digital clock.

3:54.

He clenched his jaw, shooting up in the darkness to touch at his back, working a hand beneath his shirt and wincing as the stickiness coated everywhere his fingertips reached. The pain seemed to numb abruptly, nothing more than a slight sting as Castiel worked off his tee, flinging it to the floor.

He knew it would be pointless to wake Dean, no matter how much he wanted the man there for comfort.

No, all he needed was his blade. He didn’t need comfort, he needed to heal.

He hadn’t thought his wings would need to be unsheathed so soon, having expected some sort of ache in his upper back some days prior to indicate their need to be stretched but apparently that wasn’t the case. He wished he could have been prepared, because this was a rather bothersome time. Castiel had been hoping Sam would have at least been out of the house when such a transformation took place, but during the night couldn’t be that awful. No one was around to see.

Castiel stumbled toward the doorway, flicking on the light switch so he could see what he was doing. He caught sight of the mattress and recoiled, disgusted by the deep red stains that marked the blue bed sheets. Even as he stood he could feel the blood sliding over his bare skin, and it had his hair standing on end, an unsettling feeling in his gut.

He knew that he could clear away the mess on both his skin and the bed once he had his Grace to hand, so the issue wouldn’t be too great if –

He slammed a hand over his mouth as the cry rose in his throat, the pain shooting down his spine rapidly and he forced himself to lurch over to the wardrobe. The tears began to make his eyes itch but he looked on through the bleariness, searching out the weapon in a blind panic.

He’d put it in there. He’d _definitely_ put it in there! It had been at the top of the leather jacket the last time he’d looked!

_Where was it?!_

He suppressed the whimper, biting down harshly on his lower lip in spite of the many times Dean had told him not to, rummaging through both the pile of discarded clothing and his thoughts incase he had placed it elsewhere over the past week.

He couldn’t have moved it.

He _hadn’t_ moved it.

It had been there the day before when he’d retrieved his coat, so where was it?!

He _needed_ it!

The tears were hot on his face and he struggled to his feet, praying the pain would stop for a little while – just until he remembered where his blade was; where he’d moved it to.

Surely Gabriel could have sensed this change brewing?! Nothing like this should have been so sudden – there was _always_ a warning prior!

He heard the resounding crack before a burning shot through his upper arms and he fell to his knees, resting his weight on his palms as the bones shifted of their own accord, slicing through the flesh of his back. It was like every last muscle in his body had seized up and he found himself incapable of movement, held in place reluctantly as the wings ripped free, an assortment of equally violent sounds echoing about the room.

It was becoming harder and harder to choke down his scream, the hope that he wouldn’t wake either Winchester with his misfortune, no matter how much he wanted Dean here now.

He wanted Dean to hold him, tell him he’d fix it – just like he had the last time – and then Dean could find the blade!

Everything would be fine.

It would be okay.

Dean would make it better.

 

*

 

Dean emptied the sink, flicking his hands through the air to rid them of the suds before wiping them on a hand towel. The kitchen looked spotless now, even if none of them had had breakfast yet, but at least Cas couldn’t do last night’s dishes. Dean was quite proud of himself for doing everything without the angel’s help. It felt weird though, so used to having Cas beside him to do everything these days, but it was nice to finally get everything done without bickering.

Okay, so maybe it was Dean who picked a fight initially, because there really was nothing wrong with Cas helping out with household chores every so often. It was just unfair for Cas to think he _had_ to help out to make things easier for Dean. There were days where Dean enjoyed cleaning up for a while, getting things organised, even if it wasn’t as orderly as when Cas did it.

In a way, he was grateful Cas was such a clean-freak. The house had definitely benefited from the angel’s habit of giving everything a place, and it was always amusing to see Cas being so ... domestic. Like, Dean understood the whole being around humans thing, but to know that Cas was enjoying his life on earth was pretty cute. Especially since Cas had told him about being a warrior or whatever when he was up in the clouds.

A cute little warrior who liked to vacuum and make the bed every day.

Dean hung the hand towel on the back of a kitchen chair as Sam sauntered in.

“Movie day?” Sam suggested, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. Dean grinned, grabbing a freshly washed glass – still warm from being cleaned only moments ago – to fill with water. He didn’t care if it tasted stale or whatever. It tasted marginally better than if he were to drink it after brushing his teeth, so overall, it wasn’t too bad.

"Dunno yet. You up for a Lord of the Rings marathon?”

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say Cas hasn’t seen them yet.”

Dean sniggered, setting his glass down on the table as he walked past to go wake up the angel. “Got it in one.”

He heard Sam snort in response and it had him smiling wider, making his way up the staircase steadily. He hopped up the last few steps onto the landing, turning toward his bedroom. Dean knew he was waking the angel up earlier than promised, but they were gonna have a movie marathon, and that required a lot of time.

Especially if they’d go on to watch a bunch of Sam’s Disney ‘classics’ later on in the day.

He hoped Cas wouldn’t be too drowsy, but he’d gone to bed at a fairly normal time last night, and he’d definitely got at least eight hours so he shouldn’t be that somnolent. And even if he was still kind of tired, Dean wouldn’t mind having Cas fall asleep next to him instead of watching the film, because even if Sam passed comments or whatever, it would still be undeniably cute.

Dean pushed open the door, frowning when it collided with some sort of object, producing a dull _thud_. He tried to peer around the frame but there wasn’t enough room and he found himself somewhat frustrated.

Was Cas keeping him out?

“Cas?” He called, rapping lightly on the wood to get the angel’s attention. Obviously it would be somewhat useless if Cas was still asleep since he barely ever woke up to Dean calling his name, but it was still worth a shot.

There was something of a moan in response and Dean let himself smile, pushing on the door gently again. It opened a couple more inches and Dean called out again, “You okay, dude?”

The soft sound of movement was the only reply Dean received, the door opening a little more of its own accord and Dean managed to nudge it open further, side-stepping into the room carefully. “You know, it’s bad enough having Sam lock himself in his room. I don’t need –“

He froze, glancing down at the carpeted floor.

Dean saw the wings before anything else, the huge mass of feathers that lay sprawled out across the room with Cas beneath them, one of them awkwardly positioned behind the open door.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

Castiel’s back was coated in dried blood, the flesh where the wings had broken free still oozing the red liquid across the jagged strips of tissue, contrasting with the paler-than-normal tone of his skin. It dripped down his sides, pooling on the carpet surrounding his form.

“Cas?!” Dean cried, dropping to his knees and tearing off his shirt to press the material to Castiel’s open wounds, staunching the bleeding as he watched for some kind of response on the angel’s facial features. “Can you hear me?!”

Castiel’s eyelashes fluttered a little, exposing the glazed irises for a few seconds before they were hidden once more, skin almost white from blood loss. There were tear stains on his cheeks, mixed with smears of blood, and it only made him look worse; ghostly fucking pale and weak and so damn helpless!

Fucking _fuck!_ Cas couldn’t die! Gabriel had promised Cas would be fine!

Dean glanced about the room quickly, setting his sights on the open wardrobe and the crap that had been strewn out onto the floor. Cas had clearly been distressed if he’d gone hunting for what Dean could only assume was his blade during the night, but it wasn’t fucking surprising. Those Goddamn wings had completely torn open Castiel’s shoulders, and given Cas’ reactions in the past from injuries twenty times fucking smaller, he couldn’t understand how the guy had even held it together!

Was _this_ why he wanted Dean to stay with him? Had he been scared or in pain?

Fuck – Dean should have just done it! He could have prevented something _this_ bad from happening, and Cas wouldn’t have had to go through it alone!

But that didn’t explain why Cas hadn’t simply used his blade to heal the damage, because it was literally _right fucking there_!

Dean hastily rose to his feet to grab the weapon from the top of the clothes pile, stumbling back to Castiel’s side to work the blade beneath Cas’ left palm with shaky hands. It began to glow as Dean sat back down, and he stared at it hopefully, applying pressure to Castiel’s wounds once more.

The blood had begun to seep through the thin material, making it stick to Dean’s hands, but he couldn’t care because Cas was opening his eyes again, staring up at him and attempting a smile.

“Don’t look at me like that you stupid bastard!” Dean choked out, covering Castiel’s hand and forcing the angel to hold the blade tight. “Heal yourself before the haemorrhaging gets any worse!”

Castiel opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, those chapped lips looking less plump and soft and way more pallid – almost grey in colour. It was scaring Dean to see Cas in such a state, even if the guy wasn’t crying from pain or anything – which was pretty fucking brave, given that Dean was still applying all his weight to Cas’ shoulders ...

He drew away abruptly, catching the brief flash of pain that scored Castiel’s features and he winced, saying a thousand apologies in his mind as the bright flash of light coursed over the angel’s upper back.

He hid his eyes to begin with, surprised by the intensity, before he found himself staring as Cas healed himself, marvelling at the beauty of something so tragic: the way the blue glow spread over the black feathers, removing the pieces of bloodied flesh that had caught between them as the wings had broken free, and giving them those blue tips that made them all that more amazing. He shouldn’t have been concentrating on something so unimportant at that moment in time, given the fact that Cas was still trying to get better, but fucking hell ...

They looked even more impressive in person, large and glossy, and so damn gorgeous! 

He watched the light fade, a peculiar radiance lingering on the feathers as it disappeared altogether. And then Cas was sitting up, lunging at him and knocking them sideways.

In spite of being so fucking tolerant of whatever pain he felt before, Castiel began to cry; huge gasping sobs that slapped against Dean’s neck as the angel clung to him. It had Dean’s throat constricting and he struggled to breathe properly as he sat them up again, pulling Cas onto his lap.

“I-I couldn’t move, and I didn’t know what to do!” Cas blurted, and Dean shushed him, cradling him closer and kissing the angel’s temple softly. Castiel continued to wail, his fingernails digging into Dean’s shoulders and the cold touch of Castiel’s blade resting against his skin as Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist. He wanted to touch the wings, but it was way too soon, and besides, Cas mightn’t even want him touching them. For all he knew, it could be the angel equivalent of groping someone.

But then the wings were wrapping around him, pressing against his back with indescribable warmth. It was similar to when Cas healed him; a sort of tingly feeling that had him trembling a little with excitement. They were so soft and fluffy – just like he’d imagined them to be – only there was that underlying firmness of the bone structure, or cartilage, or whatever it was that made them like any other limb on the body; making them solid yet not so much that it was uncomfortable. They were actually kind of cushiony.

Cas whimpered a little, nuzzling into Dean’s neck with his dampened features. The tears were warm and the blood made the touch kind of sticky, but he ignored it, moving a hand to rest at the back of the angel’s head, stroking the hair softly as Cas began to calm down.

“Have you healed yourself properly?” He whispered, and Cas began to glow again; every part of him shining with that blue tainted light, although it wasn’t quite as intense as before.

He was surprised when Cas shuffled away, but he wiped at his own face as he watched the angel do a journey about the room, trembling as he touched at the carpet and bed sheets to rid them of the dark stains. Dean’s shirt was the last thing to be cleaned, and for that Cas knelt before him to pull the item of clothing over Dean’s head. It was a careful gesture, tender and cautious as Castiel aided Dean into the fabric, setting down his blade to smooth the material over Dean’s chest.

There were still tears rolling down the angel’s cheeks, dripping from his jaw onto the carpet, but Castiel had vanished the blood from his skin and it was almost like he was back to his normal self; his skin colour creamier and his eyes soft.

But that didn’t stop Dean from hugging Cas to his chest again, wrapping his arms around the angel’s waist and kissing the top of his head desperately.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” Castiel tried. The words were quiet, muffled against Dean’s shirt, and Dean could feel the regret wash through him. He should have stayed. He shouldn’t have cared about what Sam would say.

He'd been so fucking stupid!

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dean offered, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. “I just ... fuck, Cas, when I saw you like that – what the hell was I meant to think?”

Castiel was silent for a moment more, nudging under Dean’s chin with the top of his head and Dean wondered if Cas should pray to Gabriel again or something, because this whole thing had been just as bad as those God forsaken headaches, and as selfish as it was to say so, if this was gonna be just as frequent, it would cause a shit-ton of problems.

Like, Cas wouldn’t be able to leave the house, and he wouldn’t be able to leave the room while Sam was home, and more importantly, he wouldn’t actually be able to _talk_ to Sam. There had to be a cure for this thing – surely some other angel would know what the hell was going on!

Castiel ran a hand over Dean’s right bicep, his fingertips sliding beneath the sleeve of Dean’s shirt. “Where did you find my blade?”

He was surprised by the question, what with it being incredibly obvious that the weapon was where it had been left last.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. “It was where you left it: in the wardrobe.”

The angel stiffened, stalling the movement. “No it wasn’t.”

“Uhhh, yes it was,” Dean informed him. “It was on top of my Dad’s jacket – where you’d put it a few days a –“

“Dean, don’t you think I would have used it if it was simply on top of the jacket?” Castiel interrupted. There was a steeliness to his tone that Dean had never heard before, and in all honesty, it kind of made him nervous.

“Wait, so you think I’m lying? Dude, it was right there!”

Castiel drew back again, moving to sit a short distance away with his wings wrapped around his chest like a security blanket. “I never said you were lying, But I looked, and if it had been there, I would have seen it.”

Dean was trying not to get irritated, because Cas had just had something of a traumatic experience and to comment on it would only lead to fighting, and he didn’t ever want to get in a fight with Castiel again.

“Then read my mind,” he offered, looking down to the discarded blade left in front of him. “That’d be proof, right?”

He wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but Cas wouldn’t go rummaging around for the latest gossip like Gabriel had, so he was actually kind of worry-free.

Cas was on him in a second, clutching the blade and pressing their foreheads together so they could do the whole ‘thought interweaving’ thing. He sent forward his memories on where the item was, and in return he received Castiel’s from last night, the odd flash of pain seeping through the connection and making him wince, but Cas probably wasn’t even aware he was doing anything of the sort, looking both completely focussed and utterly confused.

He could make out quite clearly that the weapon wasn’t there – no matter how thoroughly Cas searched, it still wasn’t there; it wasn’t on top of the clothing where Dean had found it. It wasn’t in the wardrobe, period.

Which meant that someone had moved it.

Someone was making Cas suffer.

 

*

 

It was lonely for a while. Lonely and dull, and Castiel was confined to the bedroom until his energy was restored.

To Sam, Castiel was sick. That was the lie Dean had provided the boy with; the excuse for why Castiel hadn’t moved from the bed for what felt like hours, although the clock claimed that Dean had only been downstairs for the equivalent of seven ... eight minutes.

The truth? He was too weak to sheathe his wings again, and it was infuriating. He was angry. Not at Dean or Sam, but at himself. Angry that he had been so very pathetic, and that he had made Dean scared. The man did not need that kind of stress in his life, and it was unfair of Castiel to make him feel as such.

Castiel hated himself for it.

He rolled onto his side, drawing the heavy blanket up to his chin and spreading his wings across the remaining half of the king-sized bed. They were frailer than he remembered, but they were heavy against his back when he stood. He’d found it difficult enough adjusting without the weight of his wings. Having them back was bothersome.

Especially if it meant he couldn’t leave the room; if he couldn’t see Dean.

He sighed loudly, staring at his blade that now resided atop the bedside dresser, gleaming in the little sunlight filtering through the curtains. He still didn’t know who placed the weapon on earth and Gabriel had been of no help as of yet in terms of finding out who was responsible. The archangel had been somewhat curious, surprised that Castiel even had it, and had promised he would look into it.

There was a knocking at the door all of a sudden, and Castiel hid his head beneath the overlaying comforter in case it was Sam. He knew that it was more likely to be Dean entering the room, but Dean rarely ever knocked before entering, more so because it was his room in the first place and he had every right to come and go as he pleased.

“Hey, uhhh, just warning you that we’re both coming in here now,” Dean told him, and Castiel shot up in bed, his feathers ruffling uncontrollably.

“What do you mean you’re coming in here? Sam _can’t_ come in here or –“

“I got it covered,” Dean interrupted, a small smile on his lips as he stepped around the door. “Sam’ll be here in a minute, so we gotta be quick.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, curious as the man closed it behind him. He didn’t understand how Dean proposed to keep them hidden, but Castiel trusted the man to know what he was doing.

Dean slipped into the bed, tearing the comforter away from them both for the time being. “Right. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll sort this out ... your wings aren’t hurting or anything are they?”

Castiel shook his head, looking down at his pale legs. He felt exposed and now rather cold without the blanket to keep him warm. Dean seemed to catch onto that, shooting him a sympathetic look laced with sadness and Castiel swallowed, glancing away shamefully as he wound his hands together on his lap.

Dean was still upset, and Castiel didn’t like the way it made him feel. It seemed to be a frequent happening: Dean getting happier, and then Castiel doing something to ruin it all, making Dean’s soul revert back to the blue. All the care gone to waste.

“Is that why you didn’t touch them before?” Castiel asked quietly, letting his wings go slack behind him. “Because you think I’m in pain?”

There had been another reason he was too afraid to address, remembering the way Dean had flinched when the wings touched his skin. It was understandable; surprise and, obviously, reflexes could have played homage to that fact, but it was knowing that Dean had had the opportunity to touch them, and he’d chosen not to.

“Partly, I guess,” Dean started, and Castiel felt the weight settle in his stomach, the uneasiness that made him feel somewhat unwell; more frail and weak than he felt prior, “But I didn’t think you’d want me to. I mean, that would have been really fucking insensitive if I didn’t even ask first – ‘specially when they’d _caused_ you so much pain in the first place.”

Castiel looked up somewhat sheepishly to find Dean’s eyes trained on him, and he attempted a smile, finding it unexpectedly difficult. “You can if you want to.”

If he and Dean had been in a relationship at that point in time, Castiel wouldn’t have been leaving it open for invitation; he would be begging for Dean to touch them. No one had ever touched them before Dean – not Joshua, nor Gabriel; no one.

Not in the way he wanted anyway.

It was rare for an angel to touch his wings out of choice, usually with the intent of harming him should it be done on purpose. Such damage was hardly something to worry about. Everyone had heard the rumours; the lies spread about his ashen feathers, so it was understandable that many didn't want to risk becoming 'tainted'.

But in terms of the few that _were_ brave enough to handle them – in terms of the _torture_ – they’d been ripped apart: plucked and dissected, strips of skin torn from the feeble bones as he was held down, completely conscious and aware of the happenings ...

He wanted positive contact this time, and he knew Dean would be gentle. Castiel trusted him to be.

He adjusted his wings, dragging them over the mattress until they rested behind him relatively snugly. He felt Dean lean against him and a wing wrapped around the man without thought, drawing his companion closer and making him laugh in spite of the blatant upset showing in his soul. Dean pulled it across his stomach, shooting him a quick smile before the duvet was pulled over their heads, bundling around their shoulders. It was large and heavy, slipping down their backs until Dean moved it again, tugging it around to conceal both of their torsos, and more importantly, Castiel’s wings.

“Comfy?” Dean asked, shuffling back so he could lean against the head board, sliding an arm around Castiel’s shoulders so Castiel felt more inclined to lean into him, resting his weight on the man’s left shoulder. Even though his wing was cradling Dean, trapped between the head board  and Dean’s body, Castiel couldn’t feel a pain or ache, and he liked the feel of Dean’s warmth on his feathers. “Yes. Thank you.”

There was a pause after that, Castiel letting himself relax for the first time in hours as they waited for Sam to arrive. He drew his knees to his chest, bringing them beneath the cover and wriggling a little so his other wing didn’t feel as cramped.

“I still think black wings are sexy,” Dean mumbled after a while, stroking the one wrapped around his chest softly, and Castiel could feel the feathers puff up, Dean’s fingers tentatively smoothing down the feathers that were slightly ruffled and crooked, almost in a manner of grooming. He’d seen his brethren groom each other before, and Castiel had always been slightly jealous of the others; their wings were pristine, well kept and appealing to look at. His on the other hand, were rumpled and messy, unable to neaten the feathers without the aid of another. And clearly he’d been missing out on a rather pleasurable activity ... unless it was simply the way Dean went about it. The man’s fingers combed the feathers but they also rubbed them the wrong way, touching at the tender flash beneath and making them puff up even more. It felt nice.

The heat touched at his cheeks when Dean kissed his temple and his wings fluttered, making the man laugh again. “Seriously, though. They’re awesome, Cas.”

Castiel reached out a hand to cover Dean’s soul, the light blue shade radiating through his fingers. “I’m sorry you had to see them this way. I didn’t want to frighten you.”

Dean looked down, touching at Castiel’s fingertips hesitantly, “I should’ve stayed with you last night.”

“No. I wouldn’t have wanted you to watch the transformation,” he sighed, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. The sound of such an occurrence was enough to disgust someone, let alone the sight. He wouldn’t ever want Dean to see it. Dean had already seen enough today. “It’s not very pleasant.”

Castiel could hear the man take in a deep breath, followed by the heavy exhalation. “But I could have helped you sooner.”

Castiel was about to tell Dean that there was nothing he could have done to help, when he realised how very cruel it would be to say such a thing. Dean was human; it wouldn’t be his fault if the only help he provided was in the form of comfort. That’s what Castiel had wanted in the first place anyway: Dean comforting him through the change, even if it would have resulted in Dean witnessing everything.

So he kept quiet, watching the blue in Dean’s soul deepen from a lack of response. He didn’t know what to say that would make it yellow again and he didn’t know what to do to make that pink even marginally brighter. It was upsetting to know that Castiel’s own misfortune had such a negative affect on how Dean felt, even if it was rather sweet of the man to care so much.

There was a knock at the door and Castiel stiffened, tightening his wing around Dean’s chest beneath the cocoon of a blanket.

“Are you guys decent?” Sam called, and Dean frowned.

“We’re not having sex, asshole!” Dean shouted back, dropping his hand back to Castiel’s wing. Castiel could feel a smile tug at his lips and he looked over to the doorway, waiting for the younger Winchester to enter.

Sam came tumbling into the bedroom at this, an assortment of cables and what Castiel could only assume was a laptop in his arms. The boy was grinning, flinging everything onto the mattress carelessly before rushing out again. Castiel simply blinked, unsure of what was going on. He wished Dean had explained it to him beforehand, but it didn’t take long for Sam to return with a blanket of his own, setting up the portable machine in the centre of the bed and seating himself beside Dean as it turned on.

“Why are you both coming in here again?” Castiel whispered when Sam leant forward to rub his finger across a small rectangular panel.

Dean chuckled softly, finding Castiel’s hand again and squeezing it lightly. “We weren’t gonna leave you alone up here, dude. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Castiel nestled closer, nosing at the side of Dean’s neck and making the man shiver. He was grateful Dean still wanted to spend time with him in spite of his wings, even more so that Dean had invited Sam to join them. It was odd how after years of desired seclusion, he had begun to prefer the company of two humans over anyone else he had ever met.

The angels would probably be disturbed by the choices he’d made – more so by the fact that Castiel had now permitted one of said humans to touch his wings. Even when angels had walked the earth many years ago, it was considered disgraceful to let a mortal touch them.

Castiel had never really understood that ideal, merely coming to the conclusion that angels were priggish creatures: incapable of understanding their insignificant status and how it would ultimately affect the human race should they continue to be so very brazen.

 

 


	10. No More Lying and No More Fighting

 

 

Tossing coins down the wishing well  
Don’t fall in now, it leads straight to hell  
I need you closer, need you beside me  
Good love will find me, good love will find me

_The Maine_

 

Dean rubbed his cheek against the top of Castiel’s head. His hair was soft, and the feathers against Dean’s back were even softer; holding him close and nudging his ribs every so often. He’d noticed a short while ago that Cas had stopped watching the movie, but he didn’t really mind, knowing full well that the whole transformation thing had probably made him a little bit out of it.

But it was the fact that Cas would smile up at him every now and again, regardless of whether Dean was looking back down at him or not, that suggested Cas was almost grateful for the company, and it had Dean’s heart fluttering in his chest.

Sure, it was a little disappointing that Cas found the hem of Dean’s shirt more interesting than _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , but it was nice being able to sit beside Cas for so long whilst being so damn close. It wasn’t quite like laying together on the couch, but Dean could see Castiel’s face more clearly when he turned his head in this position, and it wasn’t as restricting in terms of movement, so he didn’t have to really worry about unsettling Cas by changing to a cross-legged arrangement or something.

Dean had, admittedly, stopped watching the movie a short while after Cas had, because he needed to make sure Cas was okay whenever possible. That was definitely more important than re-watching a film he’d seen countless times before.

But Cas seemed kind of nervous, and that was totally understandable, because Sam was literally right beside where Castiel’s wing was hidden beneath the blanket, and it wasn’t exactly relaxing to think about what would happen if Sam actually saw them.

Which was kind of why Dean was trying so very damn hard not to think about it, because he didn’t want to seem lacking in confidence in terms of whether or not they could keep them hidden for the entirety of the time Sam was with them. That’d only stress Cas out more.

 

*

 

He must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing he remembered seeing on the laptop screen was Sam carrying Frodo up friggin’ Mt Doom.

Two films. He’d missed the equivalent of two of his favourite fucking movies.

He exhaled heavily, attempting to listen in on the faint whispers shared between his younger brother and Cas over the dramatic music emitted by the laptop. He could pick out bits and pieces, and from what he could tell, they weren’t talking about him, which was reassuring. Dean could hear what Cas was saying more clearly than Sam, but it was still kind of difficult, especially since Cas was being so quiet.

“No, she was the only one who seemed to understand my reasoning. After so many years of having her not talk to me, I really did think she would have been on anyone’s side but mine.”

“So what happened?”

Dean could feel Castiel’s fingers draw over his thigh tenderly and he shifted his head a little so it rested more comfortably atop Castiel’s own.

“She never showed up. It’s been five years since I saw her last,” the angel muttered. He sounded hollow and tired, and it kind of hurt to hear – especially since it’d been a pretty shit day for Cas so far.

He touched at the back of Castiel’s hand, and the angel jumped, letting out something of a nervous laugh as Dean ran his fingertips over Castiel’s wrist. “You’ve been asleep for quite some time now, Dean.”

“Oh! Is Dean awake now?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, closing his eyes again and smiling when he felt Castiel’s finger press to his lips tentatively. He didn’t really understand the angel’s fascination with his facial features, but it was that kind of bizarre curiosity that made hanging around with him more entertaining. It was like he couldn’t even find it in himself to complain about anything Cas did, no matter how weird it was.

“You missed your movies,” Castiel murmured, and he almost sounded apologetic – like it was his fault or something.

“I don’t mind,’ he stated honestly, because in all fairness, missing out on watching them again wasn’t really that big of a deal. He reached up to tap Castiel’s knuckles, drawing the hand away from his lips to cradle it against his chest, slotting their fingers together and ignoring the muffled snort Sam made beside him.

That was another thing: it was stupid to care so much about Sam’s opinion. Well, Sam’s opinion was important in terms of virtually everything else, but Dean’s relationship with Cas shouldn’t be one of them ... unless, of course, Sam hated Cas, but that seemed really fucking unlikely, given their frequent little gossiping sessions and historical discussions.

So maybe instead of concentrating on how to shut Sam up, he should be focussing more on how he could be that little bit more honest with Cas.

He felt like he was lying, even if by avoiding the issue it wasn’t technically a lie in itself, but it still made him feel like crap for doing it.

“I think I might go downstairs for a while,” Sam announced, tapping at the touch pad on the laptop before springing off the bed. “You want this left in here?”

Dean pulled away from Cas a little so he could look down at him, smiling. “You want to watch another film or something?”

Castiel looked kind of shy, ducking his head and looking up through his lashes. “If that’s what you want to do.”

Dean looked over toward the glowing screen, biting the inside of his lower lip. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered asking, because Cas always responded with the same similar answer – it was like the whole picking meals thing. Cas never seemed to care about what they did so long as it kept Dean happy, and it was pretty damn stupid.

There had been a few instances where Cas _had_ given an answer, but they’d been long, thought out decisions – almost like the angel considered each and every outcome in terms of how it ultimately affected Dean. Obviously, it was fairly self-centred to think about it like that, but he knew enough about Castiel’s mannerisms to know that he still put Dean’s preferences before his own.

“Leave the laptop here, Sam, and I’ll put it away if we don’t end up using it,” he spoke finally, and he could see the boy nod from the corner of his eye, the single sized comforter sliding off of the bed as Sam carried it back to his room, shutting the door behind him. Dean turned to face Cas again. “You need to stretch your wings or anything, dude?”

Castiel simply extended them, brushing away the blanket effortlessly, mindful of the bedside dresser as they reached out fully. Dean couldn’t help but stare, observing the way the feathers twitched and rose from the skin when he touched them. It dawned on him that it was actually kind of childish for touching the wings constantly ... not that he was gonna stop anytime soon – or at east, not until Cas had a go at him for doing it so much or something, but it was just so weird!

Each wing was around the same size as Cas was himself, yet they had this odd delicacy about them in spite of their surprisingly heavy weight. The way they moved made them look so damn light and dainty, and the way they rested against him before was like being wrapped in a big fluffy blanket, but Dean honestly didn’t expect them to be as firm when one of them knocked the side of his head. “Hey!”

Castiel smirked. “You were staring again.”

Dean shoved the limb away and the angel laughed, normally this time – it didn’t sound forced or strained, or any less genuine than his regular laugh – making Dean feel more at ease. He let go of Castiel’s hand, grinning when Cas kept it pressed against his chest and he glanced down, watching Cas tug the comforter over his bare legs with his other hand. “Why don’t you put on a pair of pants, dude?”

He, himself, had opted not to put his jeans on as of yet, but Cas seemed kind of uncomfortable simply sitting in his underwear. It couldn’t really be easy for him, but wearing those sweats or something wasn’t impossible – only the shirt side of things. Dean knew for a fact they wouldn’t be able to fit anything over his wings, unless they put a hoodie on him backwards, but that was just plain idiotic, and the guy would end up looking ridiculous when he could easily wear a blanket to keep warm.

Castiel followed his gaze, bunching up the heavy blanket over his thighs. “I don’t really need to wear anything, seeing as I can’t leave this room yet. There isn’t really any point in dressing myself anytime soon.”

Dean scooted closer, grabbing the nearest corner of the comforter to drag it over his own bare knees. The angel looked like he was trying not to shiver, but Dean could see the goose bumps clearly raised on his forearms from moving the blanket away from his wings, so he draped his arm around Castiel’s shoulders again, rubbing at the top of his bicep as best he could without having his elbow bump against Cas’ wings.

Cas was actually surprisingly warm to the touch in spite of his apparent state, and he slumped against Dean’s arm, the only obvious sign of his intent being the way both wings curled around them; one behind, acting like some sort of support, whilst the left wing crowded in front of them, nudging it’s way beneath both of Dean’s arms like it had done earlier on.

“Are you still tired, Dean?” Castiel queried somewhat sluggishly, his speech a little slurred like he himself was struggling to keep awake at that moment in time. Dean smiled, bowing his head as Castiel’s temple rested against the side of his face.

“No, man. Are you tired, by any chance?”

Cas made a light humming noise. “Not really.”

“And you’re feeling okay? No headaches or pains in your back?” Dean pressed, and Cas’ wings fluttered around him, a slight vibration against his chest and back that had him grinning wider, desperate to hold back a laugh, because _God_ it was like being tickled.

“You worry too much,” the angel sighed. “But I feel fine. My wings haven’t hurt me since, and you should know by now that the headaches have been dealt with. They are no longer an issue, so don’t make yourself stressed by contemplating problems that will never arise again. Thank you for asking, though.”

Dean nodded, bringing a palm up to cradle Castiel’s cheek, as awkward as it made his own positioning. Almost immediately Cas rubbed against it like some sort of cat, his stubble scratching against Dean’s skin a little, creating friction. “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” Castiel replied imminently, almost like he had no other choice in the matter. It made Dean feel a little harsh for considering Castiel’s response to be as disappointing as it initially sounded, but Cas didn’t _sound_ disappointed; simply expectant and compliant, like regardless of what Dean asked, he would try his very best.

Dean should have been thrilled that that was the case, but it still made Cas seem like some willing little slave – one that had his own mind and was perfectly capable of making his own decisions, yet he decided not to, purely so Dean wouldn’t become upset if he did something that maybe Dean didn’t like – but that totally shouldn’t matter! Cas was his own person, and he deserved to act in the same way. He needed to be a little more adventurous in terms of what he did ... although, even though Dean said as such, Cas had been pretty outgoing as of late. The only thing he should really focus on was making his own decisions without fear of what Dean would think all the time, not just on the odd occasion.

It was actually kind of frustrating.

Dean wet his lips. “I know I’ve probably said this before, but if you feel the slightest bit weird; if _anything_ feels different at all, I want you to tell me, okay? Don’t ... don’t just keep it from me, because I – it’s not fair if you’re taking all this on on your own, and I-“

“Of course,” Cas interrupted, and Dean exhaled heavily, because he knew Cas probably wouldn’t take any of that on board regardless of his promise to do so. It was just all part of the whole segregating his thoughts from Dean, happy to hear about how Dean was feeling, but never really descriptive in terms of how he was feeling himself, almost ignoring the subject because he _still_ – despite of the utter stupidity behind his reasoning – thought Dean’s wellbeing was of higher concern.

Apparently being cured of depression doesn’t get you off of Dr. Castiel’s crucial and frequent sentimental check-ups. It was ridiculous! Dean wanted to hear about everything that had been bugging Cas as of late; things like how he felt about ... the latest news stories? Cooking? Maybe even other mundane tasks, because other than his slightly content facial expressions as he went about doing the chores (which he shouldn’t even be doing in the first place), he hadn’t actually admitted to liking them.

“But only if you promise not to worry yourself as much,” Castiel continued suddenly. “I know you care about my health as much as your own, but I don’t want to see you as upset as you were this morning.”

Dean clenched his jaw, even more annoyed at what Cas was asking of him in return.

In all honestly, he didn’t exactly get what Cas was asking of him, because he _couldn’t_ hide his upset as simply as Cas put it. Like, even if he put on his best smile and told Cas everything was A-okay, he wouldn’t be able to hide how he felt in his soul – and that’s what Cas would be able to see clearer than anything else.

He was usually pretty good at masking the way he felt, but the knowledge that Cas would probably be ignoring the sadness or whatever it was he saw – the _blue_ colour – had him feeling kind of sick, because Cas would be ignoring it solely to make-believe everything was absolutely fine; Cas could be imaging that he was fine himself, and if that was the case, then Dean certainly needed to be worried for him. Cas could be making things worse without even realising.

 

*

 

It took several hours before Castiel felt strong enough to re-sheathe his wings, but he didn’t, because Dean had asked him not to. Castiel had been hoping that he wouldn’t have had to sleep with the heavy weight disturbing his comfort, preventing him from moving very much during the night, but it was actually surprisingly easy.

Especially since Dean had chosen to stay with him.

Castiel put it down solely to Dean’s guilt, in spite of the fact that it was not the man’s fault. Of course Castiel had wanted Dean to stay, but he hadn’t known the transformation would occur. If he had, he would have specifically asked Dean to keep away, and he would have had his blade at the ready for when the change took place.

“You wanna take a trip to the bathroom before you go to bed?’ Dean asked, and Castiel nodded, slinging his legs over the side of the mattress.

Having his wings wasn’t too much of an issue; the only problem seemed to be keeping them out of harms way. The case of hiding them from sight was relatively simple, should Castiel carry his blade around with him, so for trips to the bathroom, Castiel simply pulled on his sweats, tucking the blade into the waistband and tightening them with the drawstrings to keep it in place. Sam had gone to bed some time ago, so it wasn’t as if the conceal was necessary, but there was always that chance that the boy wanted a drink, or similarly needed to use the bathroom during the night, and Castiel didn’t want to risk encountering him with his wings on display.

Dean went with him, and they brushed their teeth together at the bathroom sink before the man retired back to the bedroom. Castiel splashed water on his face once Dean had left, staring intently at himself in the mirror. For some reason, he felt he didn’t look right. It was hard to place his finger on what it was, but there was definitely something different.

He chose to ignore it, because there wasn’t much he could do to alter his facial appearance. Obviously he could shave, and relax a little more to rid himself of the dark smudges beneath his eyes, but nothing would stop him feeling any less peculiar.

He turned off the bathroom light after relieving himself, mussing his hair as he wandered back down the corridor. He felt exhausted in addition to the odd sensation, and just knowing that Dean didn’t have class the following day had him smiling.

Dean didn’t have any more classes until the New Year.

Very few courses at Dean’s college had a hiatus so soon before the end of the term, as Dean had told him a few days ago, but Castiel was looking forward to spending even more time with the man, figuring he could get away with having his wings out more often.

Or rather, until Sam had also been granted leave from school.

But that was a week away. Castiel had Dean to himself for the majority of that time.

He placed his blade on the bedside dresser, giving it one last glance as he turned to face Dean. The man was smiling, eyelids drooping sleepily in spite of it only being eleven, or there abouts. He was surprised at how tired Dean was, but it was rather nice to see, knowing that Dean would be going to bed at a reasonable time, and in return would have a fairly decent night sleep – especially since he wouldn’t have to wake up particularly early anymore.

Castiel reached forward, cupping Dean’s jaw with both hands, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hide them again?”

“Yup,” Dean chirped, brushing his fingers through the lower, thicker feathers of Castiel’s left wing. “I’m not gonna see these beauties for a while, so why not indulge myself while I still can?”

Castiel hit Dean over the back of the head lightly as he pulled away. “Isn’t that rather hypocritical?”

Dean’s smile faltered a little. “What do you mean?”

Castiel walked over to the doorway, setting the door ajar as he turned off the bedroom light. He navigated his way back over, slipping out of his sweatpants and purposefully climbing onto Dean’s lap, pushing him backwards and working a hand beneath the man’s shirt to touch at his soul.

“You said that I wasn’t allowed to ‘get off’ on your soul, yet what you’re proposing is to derive pleasure from touching my wings, correct?”

He could hear Dean swallow and he grinned, letting the man push him away. Castiel chose to slip beneath the sheets, dropping a wing over Dean’s chest teasingly as he relaxed.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean yelped, and Castiel bit his lip as he dragged the wing lower on the man’s body, brushing over the bulge in his underwear and relishing the way Dean’s breath hitched. Castiel couldn’t feel it as well as he would have liked, but he was content in simply knowing he’d aroused the man, choosing to feign cluelessness when Dean yanked the wing back up to his chest, grumbling softly to himself.

“Is there a problem, Dean?” Castiel asked, dropping his other wing over Dean’s head, unable to contain his laughter when Dean struggled beneath the heavy weight.

“You got feathers in my mouth, asshole!”

Castiel drew them close to his back so he could roll over, flinging an arm over Dean’s chest and nuzzling beneath Dean’s jaw affectionately. He pulled one wing over his bare arm, stretching it over the rest of Dean’s torso to provide extra warmth. “Are you still sure you don’t want me to get rid of them?”

Dean placed a hand on the feathers, stroking them softly, almost cautiously, as the other settled between Castiel’s shoulder blades. “Go to sleep, Cas.”

 

*

 

Dean traced his finger along Castiel's spine slowly, smiling as the angel curled away from the touch in his sleep. Cas had rolled away in the night and Dean honestly wondered how the guy was even comfortable; what with one wing draping over the edge of the mattress, and the other being trapped under his side. Would Cas get cramp or something from lying on it like that?

He repeated the motion, easing the pressure as he neared Castiel's tail bone, only to drag the digit back to the top. "You gonna get up soon, Cas?"

The angel wriggled away, slapping at Dean's arm with a wing lightly, groaning. "Too early."

It was ten thirty.

Dean sighed, rolling onto his back. He'd been awake for a while now, just watching Cas sleep in the least creepy way he could. He didn’t really want to get out of his bed just yet, having missed the gentle comfort the mattress had to offer, as opposed to the crummy couch.

Sleeping on the settee was actually starting to hurt his back a little. He'd understood that it would probably be uncomfortable, but when he first offered to stay there, he hadn't really expected to sleep on it for five weeks. It had kind of become the norm though, and he was actually used to sleeping on something firmer and relatively restricting, in spite of loving the way the mattress practically moulded to his form as he lay still.

God, he’d missed his bed so fucking much.

He glanced over again to stare at Castiel's bare back, noticing where the skin had sort of melded to the feathers from their unsheathing, making it less obvious that it had been untainted skin in the first place. It was odd to think that such massive limbs had managed to stay compressed in the angel’s body for so long, leaving behind virtually no traces of things ever being different, and Dean shifted closer to examine the flesh. As he drew nearer, he could see the faint outline of some sort of symbol at the top of his spine. It looked like some sort of brand, a circle with a peculiar assortment of lines within it. It was kinda pretty in a way, like one of those white-ink tattoos, just the flesh wasn't raised in the slightest and it was incredibly hard to see.

He tapped it tenderly, drawing out the pattern with his finger, barely touching the skin as he went about it.

Castiel remained still, breaths regular and heavy, so Dean assumed he'd gone back to sleep. Dean often wondered how Cas managed to fall asleep so quickly. Even last night, within about ten minutes, Cas had been pretty much unconscious.

Was this going to be the new 'normal', then? Sleeping beside the angel each night?

Obviously, Dean didn’t mind. If Cas wanted him to stay, then he would. He could watch out for the angel that way; make sure nothing bad happened to him again.

He felt pretty damn protective over the little guy. After everything Castiel had been through, Dean was happy to watch over him. He'd lost count of the amount of times he'd worried about Castiel's safety, praying that the headaches wouldn't return, or the demons, or any angel that had ever treated Cas harshly. He just wanted Castiel to be safe.

Thinking about demons had Dean’s hair standing on end, recalling how Meg had looked so normal – literally just like a human – yet Cas had been able to call her out on her guise or whatever, pretty much immediately. The same with that Hester girl, but Cas had already told him about the whole glowing aspect that had been the giveaway.

But to think that there were others, walking around amongst humans without anyone even noticing, was what scared him most; knowing how damn powerful they were and how they all had special abilities, and how they could quite easily jump Dean if he was out walking on his own, snapping his neck with a flick of the wrist ...

It was fucking terrifying!

He stiffened when Cas rolled back into him, a hand grazing over his left hip and the angel’s cold nose pressing to his neck. Castiel moaned sleepily, but he probably wasn’t actually asleep after all. Not if the rhythmic tapping on Dean’s hip was anything to go by.

Dean drew in a sharp breath, plucking Castiel’s fingers away in an attempt to put a little distance between them. “I was gonna go buy food, man, so you might wanna –“

“No. Stay here,” Cas muttered, his wings beating down against the mattress abruptly like he was irritated or something. “You’re warm, and it’s cold.”

Dean sighed, running his fingertips over the back of Castiel’s thigh lightly, making Castiel squirm. “ _Or,_ I can go to the store, come back, and you can hug me or whatever then.”

He grinned when the angel pressed two fingers to his lips, all too familiar with the gesture now. “Shhh. You’re keeping me awake.”

‘Sorry,” he chuckled in reply, prising the fingers away again so he could slide out of bed. He stopped when the angel held onto him a little tighter, Cas letting out a muffled whimper as he nuzzled against Dean’s shoulder. “Jeez, you’re clingy this morning.”

“I barely ever get to lay like this with you.”

Dean sighed again, giving up and rolling back over to hug Castiel in return, breathing in the angel’s soft scent as he kissed Cas’ forehead, smiling when he heard Castiel’s wings flutter excitedly in response.

He liked how expressive Castiel’s wings were despite them not really possessing anything that would give away _exactly_ how Cas was feeling, but their movements were subtle, and although it was all down to Dean’s assumptions, he figured it helped him get to know Cas’ reactions a bit better. Even if the wings wouldn’t be present for that much longer.

Like, he guessed that when Cas was relatively cheerful, the feathers puffed up a little – and that was cute, because they felt even fluffier and they gave Cas’ wings a softer surface. It was weird, but yeah. They seemed a little more expressive than Cas’ face sometimes, and Dean hadn’t even spent that much time observing them.

But they were awesome, and Dean hoped he’d get to see them a whole lot more in the future. Obviously Cas couldn’t keep them out whenever Sam was around, but there would be longer periods of time when Sam was out or something after Dean graduated, and maybe Dean would be getting a day job and stuff, but they could figure something out. They’d proved only the day before that it was possible for Cas to get away with having his wings out. He either had to feign illness, or he could do it when he and Dean were alone.

It wouldn’t be all that difficult – they just needed to plan ahead, so Sam wouldn’t be the one walking in on the bloodied mess next time.

 

*

 

Dean knew he was being stared at from the moment he set foot in Wal-Mart. He simply didn’t want to acknowledge it, knowing full well who it was and what would happen if he actually paid any attention to them.

He paid for his groceries and left the store, starting the short walk back home without so much as a glance behind him in spite of the glares and the slightly-too-loud-to-be-considered-whispering kind of conversation.

There were some things he’d rather not have to endure on his first day of what he classed as vacation, and ‘bumping into’ Gordon Walker was not one of them.

Sure, they’d fought. Gordon had backed off. Everything had been great.

That was the problem.

Good things never lasted long.

He picked up the pace, running a hand over his face when he heard the footsteps behind him, large thudding noises that were unmistakably Gordon attempting to stomp his way down the snow-cleared sidewalk. Fucking brilliant.

Dean couldn’t really get out of this without Cas by his side, giving him that ever essential confidence that he was lacking today.

Lacking: because Cas wasn’t there. Obviously.

He grunted when the oh-so-familiar hand clamped down on his shoulder, crushing it beneath his jacket, and he couldn’t help but wince when he was abruptly turned around, standing face-to-face with the fucktruck himself.

And Creedy. Motherfucking _Creedy_ was with him.

Okay, Creedy wasn’t _that_ intimidating – he actually came across as a bit of a pushover. It was more to do with his size than anything else.

“Long time no see, Winchester,” Gordon chortled. “Where’s your little fuck buddy?”

Dean scowled, breaking free of what felt like a death grip and starting off down the street again, keeping his eyes fixated on the road ahead. He wasn’t in the mood – he was never in the mood – and even if it came down to another fight, he wouldn’t be able to take on two people – especially since Creedy had a pretty good reputation at college for his boxing skills. Dean didn’t want to risk it.

“Awww. Did the little freak get bored of you? Haven’t seen him hanging off your arm in a while,” Walker jeered, shoving him in the back. Dean stumbled forward, cursing as the shopping bag grated against the stadium wall, tearing open and spilling out onto the snow.

“Fuck off,” he spat, turning around hurriedly to face the two men, feeling a heat wash over his face. Gordon was smirking, stepping closer, and it made Dean feel genuinely sick.

He clenched his jaw when Walker shoved him back against the cobbled wall, leaning into his personal space. He could see Creedy out of the corner of his eye, simply standing there. Awaiting orders, most likely.

“You know, I think it’s disgusting.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I never asked for your opinion, douchebag.”

It didn’t even matter what Gordon was referring to, because Dean honestly didn't care anymore. He wanted Gordon to fuck off, leave him alone, and never fucking talk to him again. Why was it that something so Goddamn simple didn’t seem to get through Gordon’s thick, Neanderthal skull?

Walker grimaced, and suddenly Dean was keeling over, the air punched out of his lungs as the fist slammed into his solar plexus. “I still haven’t said ‘thank you’ for the black eye, faggot.”

Dean choked, struggling to take in a deep breath, the sharp pain continuing to cut through his torso. There were dots of red in his vision; a blurriness that made him wince when he tried to straighten up, desperate not to seem as weak as he felt.

But fucking hell, this was _nothing_ in comparison to being thrown against a building from over seven yards away. It brought Dean an odd kind of comfort, knowing that he’d faced something worse than Gordon and lived to tell the tale. Obviously, having the shit beat out of him wasn’t exactly great, but Gordon was a fucking ant in comparison to a demon. He’d like to see the bastard try and take on Meg: see how long it’d take to make him cry.

“What’re you smiling about?’ Gordon snarled, fist curling around to smash into Dean’s jaw.

Dean wheezed out a laugh, grinning at Gordon and meeting his line of sight as best he could; fearlessly.

“I’ve been wailed on harder by a girl.”

 

*

 

He arrived back home with a split lip, a bruised jaw, and probably a couple of cracked ribs, but he was okay. Well, not as okay as being perfectly happy and healthy, but he’d been worse in the past, and obviously he was grateful he hadn’t been beaten to death, so ultimately: yeah. He was okay.

It had been a bit of a struggle carrying the groceries back in his arms – especially when his hands seized up from stress or the cold or whatever, but he wasn’t incapable, and he felt somewhat lighter knowing that Gordon didn’t have a reason to beat on him again. Although, that didn’t necessarily mean Gordon wouldn’t _try_ to find a reason, but that was nothing new.

He was just glad it hadn’t been Cas in his place.

He dumped the shopping onto the kitchen table, wincing when he tried to stand up straight afterwards, so he didn’t bother putting the groceries away immediately, more concerned about washing the blood from his face at the kitchen sink to care about anything else. It felt grimy and sticky, and although there wasn’t much, it sure felt like a lot more than what actually washed away.

His lip stung like a bitch when the cool water seeped into it, but he continued to rinse the wound, dabbing at it lightly with paper towel to dry it off as carefully as he could.

Cas was gonna freak.

The angel had always been a little overprotective – obviously because he was so used to looking after Dean and all that shit – but seeing Cas so pent up over Dean’s mistakes in the past was one of the reasons why Dean didn’t want to run into Cas just yet. He had a funny feeling the guy would blame himself for this, seeing as he blamed himself for absolutely everything else.

Of course, Cas had started to relax a little more when Dean had thoroughly explained why each and every situation the angel had stressed over _wasn’t_ his fault and how the final result couldn’t have been helped. This time would be a little more challenging though.

The reason being? Castiel had offered to accompany Dean to Wal-Mart in the first place, having sheathed his wings once Dean had finally persuaded him to get out of bed, and Dean had told him ‘no’ because he didn’t want, or need, help with everything. Maybe it was a little cold of him to say, but the angel needed to take it easy. Sure, it was probably a little difficult what with all the weird shit he’d recently been going through, but he didn’t need to add a bunch of chores to the list. That wouldn’t be fair.

He started out of the kitchen, still struggling a little with his breathing. His chest felt constricted, and if he breathed in too deeply, it felt like his lungs were on fire. At least when Meg had injured him, Cas had numbed most of the pain immediately afterwards. Maybe he’d been kind of cocky before.

In a way, he had provoked Gordon, but that was more for his own amusement, never really understanding why Gordon got so pissed off when he could quite easily be doing something way more interesting instead. And he didn’t get why Creedy was even there at the time, because it wasn’t like the guy said anything, let alone _do_ anything. He seriously just stood there, watching on with that stupid gormless expression he wore more often than not in class. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself, more so just present to keep Gordon company, which was pretty sad. Dean knew that Gordon wasn’t exactly popular, with just a couple of friends and obviously the few girls that hung off his every word, following him around like a flock of sheep, but it wasn’t like Creedy got into any fights of his own. Other than his boxing matches, obviously, but those had consent from both sparring partners, not just one.

Dean started his descent up the stairs, figuring he could inspect his facial injuries a bit better in the bathroom, what with him simply relying upon touch to judge how serious they were at that moment in time. It would definitely help to be able to see.

He could hear Cas praying in the bedroom, low mumblings that Dean didn’t really want to listen in on this time, because there wasn’t really any point regardless of whether he did or not. He didn’t understand Enochian, and the only way he was actually going to find out what Cas was saying was by asking. Something he didn’t need to do straight away.

He didn’t bother turning on the bathroom light, given that the window provided plenty of light to see clear enough in, wandering over to stand in front of the mirror, cringing at the mottled marks lining his jaw, and the purple stain that swelled over the left hand side of his mouth. It wasn’t actually as bad as he’d initially thought it would look, but it was still pretty terrible. He hadn’t looked this rough in years!

His lip had started to bleed again, a trail of blood seeping from the crevice and sliding over his bruised jaw line before he had the chance to wipe it away with the back of his hand.

It was times like these that he wondered if he even deserved that kind of beating. Obviously, he’d hit Gordon before, and Gordon had hit him a few times in the past, but other than being a little quick to spill his thoughts in front of the guy, he hadn’t done anything bad at all. Being rude only provoked him, but maybe Gordon should learn to control that hot temper of his, rather than terrorizing the entirety of their college with it.

Apparently, even a few of the teachers were frightened by him.

Dean sighed, washing the smear of blood from both his hand and his chin, cleaning the wound once more as he tried to make things look slightly better than they did. He knew there was barely any chance of that happening soon – not unless he got some super-skilled make-up artist to perfect his face for him, but there was no use in trying to hide it now. Cas was going to see it sooner or later anyway.

May as well get it over with.

Walking into the guy on his way out of the bathroom wasn’t intentional, but Dean was pretty damn glad it happened. It was way less awkward than simply striding into the bedroom like nothing was wrong, and it meant he wouldn’t have to start an awkward conversation. Cas could do that all on his own.

“Dean, who did this to you?” Castiel blurted, touching at his face hastily, mindful of the bruising as he inspected the damage. “Was it Hester? Did she come back and hurt you?!”

Dean smiled, shaking his head as the angel grabbed hold of his wrist. “Nah, it was just Walker. Getting me back for laying into him all those weeks ago.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Castiel cried, looking over his shoulder at him. “I thought he’d finally left you alone!”

Dean simply shrugged. “Don’t get so worked up though, dude. Everything’s okay.”

Castiel whirled on him, shoving him up against the wall opposite his bedroom door. “Okay?! You’ve just been assaulted and you consider that to be _okay?!”_

Dean winced a little at the pressure applied to his chest, and Castiel sprung back immediately, wide-eyed and almost frightened. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“Like I said: its okay,” Dean murmured, watching the angel’s eyes flick to his lips for a second. He took Castiel’s hand carefully, winding their fingers together as he led them into the bedroom and over to the dresser where the blade resided. He didn’t know whether he really needed to be healed or not, because all this was just the result of any other time he’d been beaten on, and he’d coped without much care from anyone other than himself, but then again, he didn’t really want Sam asking questions. And it would ease the pain, so if Cas didn’t mind doing it, it would be a big help.

Part of him wanted to stop relying on Cas for this kind of aid though, because although Cas had told him it was what he was there for, it wasn’t really fair to use him like some sort of nurse. And it had to tire him out or something, right, because it was using up energy that Cas could be using to help himself – to keep his wings compressed, or to make him feel more energetic in the mornings.

But that was a really good point actually – something that Dean had failed to think about before!

Did using the blade make Cas weaker? Like, could it be the reason why his wings had broken free without his consent, or was that simply down to someone fucking with the poor guy. Dean didn’t like the thought of being responsible for even more of Castiel’s pain, but the thought of someone purposely hurting him had him seething with fucking rage.

He trusted Cas to tell him if that was the case – if either of those points were true, even though it was unlikely Cas would know if someone genuinely was teasing him again or something – and maybe he himself wasn’t trusting enough if he thought the angel would be keeping something like that from him – especially after their conversation the day before.

“Sit down on the bed, Dean, and I’ll heal you,” the angel spoke quietly, pushing down on Dean’s shoulder until he was seated, before straddling his hips. Dean let Castiel’s fingers trace over his face, his neck; the cold touch was kind of soothing in spite of the weather outside. “It’s not just ...” Cas touched at his lip gently, the flesh that wasn’t cut and bleeding, but close enough for the skin to be pulled taut, aching. “What part of your chest hurts most?”

“They hit me in the solar plexus a few times,” he grumbled as Castiel began to open up his jacket, pushing it from Dean’s torso tenderly. “And my ribs.”

Castiel was far more caring than usual – well, he was _always_ caring, regardless of whether Dean was injured or not, but this was different – unzipping Dean’s hoodie and helping him out of the sleeves when it wasn’t even necessary. But there was something about the way Cas went about undressing him, brushing a hand through Dean’s hair and touching at his cheek with the backs of his fingers before sliding off the next layer – obviously putting Dean’s comfort as the main priority, but just the whole taking care of him in general: Cas was just so cautious.

Dean was just grateful his jeans didn’t need to be removed, although he was a little concerned about Castiel’s position above him, what with the angel being the only person to arouse him _solely_ on the undressing side of things. And of course, the way they were seated wasn’t exactly innocent, so it had quite a few fantasies racing through Dean’s thoughts.

He shivered when his shirt was lifted over his head, completely exposed to the cold chill in the bedroom, but Castiel’s chest was warm through the angel’s thin tee-shirt, pressing against Dean’s own as Cas reached over to grab his blade.

“Cas, you feeling okay?” Dean asked casually. “Since putting your wings away, I mean.”

Castiel smiled. “You mean to ask as to whether or not I’m strong enough to heal you?”

“No – I genuinely want to know how you are,” he pressed, and Castiel’s expression turned stoic, becoming virtually unreadable. Sometimes he wondered if Cas was better at masking his emotions than Dean was himself, what with such sudden changes from a beaming smile to an almost vacant appearance every so often. It was that, or he got lost in thought, but Castiel always seemed too attentive, so daydreaming wasn’t really that plausible an excuse.

Castiel touched at Dean’s lip again with his forefinger, sending the light, warm energy toward the wound as he answered. “I suppose so. Nothing hurts anymore, and I feel more relaxed knowing that I don’t have to unsheathe my wings for another month.”

“So you _are_ okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel laughed softly, and Dean grinned, placing his hands on the angel’s hips. Cas hadn’t opted to put much clothing on at all, clearly content in lounging about in his boxers and an oversized shirt for the rest of the morning, which Dean didn’t really have a problem with. It was admittedly a little distracting, but it wasn’t _that_ difficult to avert his eyes.

Cas moved his hand lower, cradling Dean’s jaw and sending forth that familiar warmth again, making the flesh tingle as the bruising vanished. He was surprised when Castiel leant closer, a heat crawling over his skin when Castiel kissed where the mark had been on his lip only moments ago, and he held his head steady, preventing himself from turning into it fully.

But seriously: it was so fucking close! Closer and more intimate than it had ever been in the past, and the fact that Cas was okay with that kind of gesture really did have him getting his hopes up. They’d completely fucked up the boundaries between friends and partners, and this was basically tearing it all to shreds! It was like at this point, the only real difference dating would have on their relationship would be make-out sessions and sex, and even then, Dean didn’t need either of those things.

The relationship they shared right now was way better than anything he’d had in the past, and they weren’t even being all romantic about it. Cas was just showing he cared, in his habitual, naive little way, and unless the angel went off and started being this chummy with someone else, Dean was totally okay with it!

Just until he plucked up the courage to tell Cas how he really felt.

Castiel’s fingers dropped to Dean’s ribs, and he drew back from Dean’s lips, looking down. “Now was it this side, the other or both?”

“I ...” he started, wetting his lips and growing hotter when Castiel’s eyes flickered up to watch the movement. “I don’t know.”

Castiel laughed again. “What do you mean you don’t know? It’s _your_ body.”

Dean began to object as Castiel pushed him backwards, that soft laughter sounding in his ears when Castiel kissed his jaw.

“Tell me where it hurts, and I’ll make it better.”

It was unusual of Cas to be so dismissive of earlier events, and what he was saying had heat rushing straight to Dean’s dick. Cas could quite simply scan his body for damage – Dean knew that much because he hadn’t had to tell Cas about any of his injuries in the past, and Cas had sorted them out just fine, so he knew Cas was being a flirtatious little cocktease; making things all the more stressful for Dean at the moment, because he honestly didn’t know what to think anymore. Cas could genuinely be coming on to him.

He took Castiel’s hand, guiding it over his skin until it reached a relatively sensitive place over his rib cage, tapping the back of the angel’s wrist because Cas sure as hell wasn’t paying attention anymore; continuing to nose beneath Dean’s chin, occasionally kissing his throat.

“Is this the place then?” Castiel queried, his back arching as he rose up, a smirk on his face. “You want me to heal you here?”

“Please,” Dean grinned, and the strange syrupy wave coursed over his bones: gentle and calming.

There was something about having his torso healed that was more therapeutic than any other part of his body, and although he shouldn’t really be picking favourites – what with the whole association with having to be hurt in the first place – having his chest healed was definitely one of the nicest sensations ever.

“Dean, may I ask you a question?” Castiel murmured quietly, massaging his fingertips against Dean’s skin as the bones beneath it healed, the warmth dying down slightly.

Dean nodded lethargically, thriving on every last drop of energy that surged over his ribs. “Uh-huh.”

Castiel looked over to the doorway briefly before their eyes met again. “I was planning on asking you some time ago, in all honesty, and I know you will probably think it peculiar of me to address ... but if I had been nothing more than a human – with no recollection of my past when you found me – do you think I would still be living here with you today?”

It was an odd question to ask, and actually pretty random given the circumstances, but Dean could imagine a couple of reasons as to why Cas would want to know. It could be down to the way they acted together, or the reason why Dean gave up his bed, or even why Dean had been so welcoming in the first place. There were lots of things that could contribute to Castiel’s curiosity, and it was something that Dean had to think about before constructing an answer.

He couldn’t really admit to his wanting to date Cas, because that had pretty much started on the same day they met; an interest in the bizarre little stranger who he’d found comfort in talking to straight away. He could tell that Castiel was a nice person, and yeah, maybe the guy had also seemed a little weird, but everyone was weird in their own way, and Dean hadn’t exactly made the greatest impression by getting all tongue-tied and nervous.

It was difficult to imagine Castiel’s behaviour and personality if he _had_ been a human from the very beginning: flirtatious, cocky – maybe a little arrogant – but they were aspects that made Dean even more fond of the guy. It was hard to explain really, because he’d been able to watch Castiel figure himself out, and that was actually pretty cool. When they’d first met, Cas had been shy and quiet, and Dean had watched him unfurl into someone who was confident, and slightly intimidating, but so fucking _hot!_

Honestly: if Cas had been as bold teasing as he was these days, Dean would have been flirting from the get-go – regardless of whether Cas was straight or not.

Obviously, there were a few things marring Castiel assertion when it came to decisive processes, seeing as he always looked to Dean for the answer when he was asked to choose, but it was a habit that Cas could eventually break – become even more human by making his own life choices and refraining from trusting Dean with every decision thrown his way. Dean could teach the angel to be a little more adventurous.

There were definitely aspects of Castiel’s personality that clashed with Dean’s, though, but then there were aspects that didn’t, and it was also pretty hard to explain on just how well it worked between them.

The whole ‘opposites attract’ ideal was partially correct, but they had their similarities, as Cas had stated once before, and from the few Dean knew of, it definitely helped build their relationship. It was almost refreshing, in an odd, difficult and relatively ridiculous kind of way.

But Dean liked it.

“I think so,” Dean offered confidently. “If _you_ chose to stay, that is. I’d probably want to be friends with you, even if we didn’t have the bond keeping us connected, or whatever it does.”

Or rather, he’d want to be dating Cas. It’d probably be easier confessing something like that to human!Cas than the angel he knew and ... cared about, but still, he wasn’t really fond of the whole coming out to his best friend idea, and regardless of whether Cas had a better grasp on human emotion, a confession of how he currently felt would definitely fuck up their friendship; for better, or for worse.

Castiel nodded, tapping his fingers against Dean’s rib cage, and Dean let his mind wander for a moment, the thought of memory loss sparking a question of his own. “Hey, what if I lost all my memory of our time together, and you couldn’t use your blade? What would you do?”

Castiel looked down at Dean’s solar plexus for a moment, a look of concentration of his face. “When I first met you, Dean, I was more than prepared to convince you of my prior status with mere words, even if you were rather stubborn and refused to believe it at first. I realise now, after actually interacting with you, that it would only make me appear insane or delusional, and that would probably destroy all hope of me ever being friends with you again ... so, I would probably rely upon Sam to inform you of the friendship you don’t recall, and I would most likely never tell you about myself in relation to my angelic history.”

“Wait!” Dean blurted, and Castiel tilted his head a little to the left. “You wouldn’t even tell me about how you gave up everything just to meet me in the first place?!”

Castiel blinked, looking downright surprised by the question, “Well, yes. If I told you that, I’d have to elaborate some kind of story to make it seem plausible, and I don’t want to lie to you more than I need to. It felt wrong the first time.”

“I-I understand,” Dean murmured, and Cas’ cheeks became tainted with a light shade of pink as he ducked his head, continuing to rub his fingertips over Dean’s ribs slowly.

He really did understand Castiel’s reasoning behind it though, because Dean had thought him crazy the first time around – and that was when Cas had used his _blade_ to explain – but it was the fact that Castiel was _willing_ to keep everything a secret that upset him the most. It had been what Cas had told him – about neglecting orders because he thought Dean was actually worth it – that had impressed him, and made him fonder of the guy, because Dean had honestly thought he wasn’t worth shit! He’d hated himself before Cas had come along!

But it was the knowledge that Cas already _knew_ about his problems that had him wanting to talk, and eventually get rid of some of the stress, because Cas understood completely. Dean never used to talk about himself because he knew no one would fucking understand!

If he forgot Cas, he wouldn’t be as open, even if he became friends with the angel again.

He cleared his throat, aware that he’d probably upset Cas by bringing it up in the first place, directing Castiel’s fingertips over to his solar plexus. Maybe it didn’t hurt as much anymore, but Castiel liked touching his soul, so it might make him a little happier by doing so now. “Here kinda hurts too.”

Castiel nodded, and Dean closed his eyes, happy for Cas to do as he pleased for however long it would take to heal him.

It started off relatively normal – or rather, as normal as the sensation could be – but after a few seconds, it didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel _bad_ as such, but it was definitely warmer – almost hot in comparison to everything before, yet still it wasn’t unpleasant. Simply strange.

He was actually considering asking about it before he heard the surprised yelp, and suddenly the heat turned into a jolt of pleasure, scoring down his spine and making every part of his body feel weak and tingly. Castiel fell on to his chest abruptly after the initial heat died down, exhaling hotly against his neck.

“C-Cas,” Dean gasped. “What the hell did you just do?”

The angel was panting, flushed and flustered as he tried to sit himself up, and then Dean saw it: the colourful light that radiated from Castiel’s body, outlining is form as his weak arms scrabbled for purchase.

“Dude, you’re _glowing_!” Dean exclaimed, letting himself smile, because it made Cas look fucking glorious, all bright and pretty with the colours complementing his eyes.

Cas looked taken aback, his eyes growing wider and his jaw going slack. “I’m _what_?!”

“You’re glowing,” Dean repeated again, scoring his eyes over the exposed skin of Castiel’s neck, and how it looked even more delicate with the light against it. “Like, pink and blue and stuff.”

Cas’ eyes flickered between his hand and Dean’s chest, before dropping the blade hurriedly to the mattress so he could cup Dean’s face with both palms, bombarding him with an assortment of questions. “How do you feel? Does anything hurt at all? Your chest doesn’t feel like its burni–“

“I’m fine,” Dean assured him, although the weird buzz was still resounding around his solar plexus as he propped himself up on his elbows, making him smile wider, because _fucking hell_ it was like some tickling electric shock. “What about y–“

“Are you sure?” Castiel interrupted, scanning Dean’s face quickly. “You don’t feel light-headed, or tired, and there are definitely no problems in your chest?”

“Yes! _God!”_ Dean laughed, and Castiel looked almost sheepish, ducking his head so Dean could no longer see his eyes, but the blush on his cheeks was pretty damn clear. “Now are you okay?”

“You sh-shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Cas mumbled, and Dean burst into laughter again because it was fucking adorable.

He pushed the hair away from the angel’s forehead carefully with his fingers, combing the hair back over Castiel’s scalp tenderly as he tried to get Cas to look up at him again. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel trembled a little, tapping Dean’s chest hesitantly. “You’re completely, uhhh ... completely healed, now.”

From what Dean understood, Cas was incredibly embarrassed and he couldn’t remember the last time Castiel had been so very reserved around him. He let Cas rest his head in the crook of his neck as the angel tried to steady his erratic breathing, wondering why Cas had gotten so worked up in the first place.

“You gonna tell me what just happened?”

“No.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What about _why_ you’re not gonna tell me?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“Of course,” Dean sighed exasperatedly, dropping back against the mattress again with Cas against his torso. He wrapped an arm around the guy’s waist, keeping him close as they lay down properly. “Will you at least tell me why you’re glowing all of a sudden?” Castiel shifted so their bodies fit comfortably together, placing a palm over Dean’s solar plexus. Dean grabbed it, holding it at bay. “Nuh-uh. You tell me why you’re all pretty and pink first.”

Cas wriggled a little, his hips rutting forward in the process, and Dean stifled a moan, biting down on his bottom lip as the angel’s crotch ground against his own.

“Apparently you can see my Grace,” Castiel grumbled. “And I can’t.”

Dean snorted, letting go of Castiel’s hand. This was exactly like Cas being able to see his soul when he couldn’t himself, so it was actually pretty fair ... even if Dean didn’t really get what all the different colours and stuff meant. He could always ask Cas anyway, if it really was anything like his soul. “Well, looks like we’re even now.”

The angel sat up, frowning. “This isn’t funny, Dean. You ... you’re ...”

Dean waited patiently for a response before noticing the way Cas refused to meet his eye, glancing off to the side and blushing furiously. Totally not suspicious in the slightest. “I’m what, exactly?”

Castiel licked his lips, staring off at the doorway again. “I ... I would just like to inform you that I didn’t mean to do this. Like I’ve said before, you were the first human I-I’ve ever attempted to heal, so I hope you’ll understand that this wasn’t intentional.”

“Dude, stop being so fucking cryptic. Just tell me what you did.”

There was a pause and Castiel attempted to meet his stare, his eyes darting away almost immediately after they met, and Dean could feel himself growing nervous, not really anticipating what Cas had to say as much as he had before.

“I ... I think,” Cas started, giving Dean another quick glance. “I think I might have just bonded us together.”


	11. Memories of Dying Days

One thousand miles away  
There's nothing left to say  
But so much left that I don't know  
We never had a choice  
This world is too much noise  
It takes me under  
It takes me under once again  
I don't hate you  
I don't hate you, no

_Rise Against_

 

“What do you mean: you _think_?”

Castiel ducked his head, hating the way Dean’s stare continued to burn his skin. He'd seen the expression beforehand: a clear fascination for what had just happened and an appreciative glance cast over his clothed chest. He'd prefer it if Dean wouldn't look at him right now; not when he was in this state, flustered and dazed, and terribly aroused. Castiel had hoped it would have been less obvious, and he definitely regretted opting out of pulling on a pair of pants when he'd heard the front door slam shut. He simply liked the way Dean looked at him when he was wearing less: a stunned kind of hunger that had electricity tripping down Castiel's spine with every longing glance.

“I-I’m not really sure,” Castiel offered, nervously reaching out a hand to touch Dean’s soul again, absorbing the pleasure that Dean was still experiencing at that moment in time, because now, the gloriously bright orb belonged to him.

 _Dean_ belonged to him.

Strictly speaking, he had always held some form of ownership over the man, but it was more in the sense of duty and protection, rather than out of his own desire and want. But the benefit Castiel was most concerned about at this point was the fact that although the problem itself was minor, no one could take Dean away from him now; no one could threaten to separate them, because this was way beyond a severable emotional aid.

The knowledge of their protection had all his worries slipping away, a comfort that even Raphael couldn’t hurt Dean – even if he wanted to; even if he still thought of Castiel with that same hatred and disgust. Raphael would be punished if he even dared to interfere with the bond Castiel shared with Dean now.

And that was more important than anything else.

“Let’s say you did. What does that mean, exactly?” Dean queried, and Castiel gulped, apathetic to respond. This was something he had not anticipated, and obviously since Dean had not given him permission in the first place, it would be understandable for the man to be angry. It wasn’t fair on Dean to be put in such a position, but Castiel was prepared to hear the words of scorn should Dean see them fit.

He deserved to be shouted at for having done something so very stupid, especially when he was unaware of what kind of effects it could have on the man a little later on. It was something he had briefly discussed with Gabriel, but not to the extent that they had talked of certain dangers regarding Dean’s health.

Humans were not as strong as demons, and although Dean was strong in many ways, whether his soul would adjust to the change was another matter. It was risky, but Castiel couldn’t see any burns on Dean’s flesh like there had been on Rachel’s demonic partner, and his soul hadn’t increased in brightness, so everything did seem relatively normal.

“Well ... I know you didn’t give your consent for this to happen, but it’s very similar to ...” he stalled when a palm brushed his thigh, his body sinking into the touch, craving something harsher; desperate and powerful, causing a simultaneously amazing and utterly dreadful sensation to occupy his mind. “ ... To marriage ... in a way.”

“M-marriage?” Dean choked out, and Castiel was unsure of whether Dean was holding back a laugh, or if he was genuinely appalled by the thought.

The man still hadn’t pushed away Castiel’s palm from it’s positioning over his soul, allowing Castiel to feel the array of emotions to come flooding through: surprisingly it was joy that stood out most of all, but it seemed that it was far simpler to evaluate Dean’s emotions now that they were bonded. They felt stronger – easy to relate to, and almost in sync with his own. It was a peculiar thought, but it wasn’t entirely implausible. Again, it was something he needed to talk to Gabriel about.

He nodded sheepishly as his only response, keeping his eyes averted as he tugged down the hem of his shirt with his free hand. His erection wasn’t exactly subtle, especially when Dean could quite possibly feel it, but as much as he wanted to feel the friction of denim against the front of his boxers – almost an aching desire for such a sensation – he kept his hips still, glancing down as he concealed himself behind the baggy fabric, feeling his face grow hotter when it draped over Dean’s fingers slightly.

No. It was not subtle at all.

“Look at you: the blushing bride,” Dean jeered, and Castiel scowled, wishing he’d kept his wings on display purely so he could cover Dean’s eyes for a while, prevent him from staring so intently up at him in that most unsettling fashion.

Although he thought as much, it was the sort of attention he wanted … just now was not the time. He wanted it when there wasn’t something as awkward as a conversation about an unintentional equivalent to matrimony.

“Gotta say, Cas,” Dean persevered, his hand shifting a little higher, making Castiel rock forward again involuntarily. He couldn’t recall ever experiencing _this_ kind of longing, but it made him ache all over, the light pulses from Dean’s soul doing nothing to help, but continuing to make the situation worse. “You’re pretty bad at the whole romance thing.”

Castiel could feel the heat crawl over his neck, staining his skin with that atrocious shade of pink upon hearing what Dean had said. If he had had his way – if he had been prepared with the knowledge of how this would work – he would have made some form of attempt at making it romantic, although the needles of pleasure that had resounded throughout his body would have made it relatively difficult to control himself, but it would have been nowhere near as embarrassing!

And of course, he would have had Dean’s consent first, instead of ignorantly crafting the connection when neither of them were ready.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, because Dean still had so little knowledge on what this meant, and it was ridiculous to merely _assume_ that Dean would be okay with it after knowing everything. “This isn’t … I can’t undo what I’ve done now, Dean, so I-I understand if you become angry with me.”

Dean sat up properly so their chests were almost touching, if it wasn’t for the fact that Castiel’s palm still rested over the hot skin where Dean’s soul resided beneath. He ducked his head under Dean’s chin when the man brought his other hand up to settle on the small of his back, listening to the gentle thrum of Dean’s heartbeat through the pressure point in his neck. “Why would I be angry? We don’t have to _do_ anything, do we?”

Castiel shrugged. “They never told me about customary activities. All I know is that the bond is issued as more of a promise than that of a relationship, so I don’t think anything but consent is needed …”

He trailed off at the sound of Dean’s soft laughter, the low rumble that shook them both gently. “So you need my consent, huh? Bit late for that.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeated again, sliding both hands around to rest on Dean’s shoulder blades. “If I’d known, I would have –“

“Calm down, okay? I’m cool with it,” Dean said hurriedly, his heart rate quickening as he attempted to reassure Castiel.  He wasn’t sure if it was from excitement, stress, or some other factor that contributed to the way Dean felt on a frequent occasion – possibly embarrassment- - but he brought a hand back around hastily to rest it back over Dean’s soul, letting the emotions seep languidly into his palm, filling his body with that incredible heat.

“But that’s the problem,” Castiel whispered. “Neither of us should be okay with it. This is ownership, and without having your consent first, I’ve marred your chances of –“

“Wait a minute!” Dean interrupted, and Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold around Dean’s torso. He didn’t like it when Dean raised his voice, and the threat of Dean shouting at him for being so stupid was something he was not anticipating in the slightest. “What do you mean by ‘ownership’?’

Cas swallowed. “W-well, it means y-you belong to me, and vice-versa ...”

Dean went quiet, and his heart rate increased in pace again.

Castiel didn’t know what to do, because it wasn’t a conversation he had expected to encounter so very soon – especially when he and Dean weren’t even _together._

“I ...” Dean started, his voice rougher than usual. “I don’t like the idea of owning you, Cas. It makes me sound like some sort of creep.”

“But it’s _mutual_ , so it doesn’t apply domineering hierarchy to either of us, and because you’re human ...” Castiel stalled for a moment, letting his arms go slack so he could shuffle back a little on the man’s lap. He still refused to look up, keeping his head hung low as he watched Dean’s soul shine between his fingers. “Under normal circumstances, I ... I wouldn’t be able to let you pursue a relationship with anyone else, but we didn’t agree to this, so –“

“Are you joking?!” Dean blurted, and Castiel flushed darker when Dean’s hands cupped his jaw, soft against Castiel’s skin and careful in the way the man’s thumbs skated over his cheeks. “You’re an idiot if you think I’d pull a dick move like that. This is the only bond you get, right – so I’m not fucking it up for you.”

He knew exactly what Dean was trying to say, and he should have been thrilled that Dean was being so sweet about it, but nothing lasted forever. There was a chance that Dean would find him unsatisfactory after a while, and if it should come to that, keeping Dean to himself would be selfish when the man could potentially be happier with someone else.

It hurt to think about, but he would always consider Dean’s happiness main priority. His own feelings shouldn’t affect the outcome of Dean’s life to the extent that it was preventing him from being as happy as he possibly could. That wasn’t fair in the slightest.

“I don’t care about that, Dean,” Castiel murmured, and he tried to smile – just in case Dean could see his facial expression. “You’re more important.”

 

*

 

Dean watched Castiel attempt to compose himself; a brief shuffling around, his hand adjusting the base of his shirt again, and then there was that trembling smile, not so much aimed in his direction, but it seemed to be the angel’s way of keeping it all together. He looked wrecked, still blushing furiously and shrinking in on himself like one of his very old mannerisms.

And to hear that Castiel still thought himself _less_ important than Dean was – in spite of this bond, that granted them both something along the lines of equality, as Dean understood it – was fucking awful; and to see the effects that it had on the way he acted were even worse! He’d thought Cas was confident, but apparently the mere thought of fucking up Dean’s chances of meeting someone else reduced him to this nervous and uncertain state.

But it was the fact that although he could see the smile – the false sense of easiness and reassurance – he could see the glow of Castiel’s Grace dim faster than the smile had even appeared on his face, and for the first time, he understood exactly what Cas must have felt like when Dean had put on a false-front. It was like being punched in the gut: able to see through the mask without any knowledge of how to help the person beneath, and he didn’t have a fucking clue on how to deal with it.

He could see so much of himself in Cas: the secrecy, the desire to be left alone – what hurt most was the fact that Castiel wouldn’t even look at him, almost like he thought he’d done something wrong, but all he’d done was make a mistake. Cas didn’t know this would happen, so it wasn’t his fault.

Dean honestly didn’t mind.

What he did mind, however, was the way Cas was attempting to pretend he was handling everything just fine. Dean didn’t know if it was solely down to the bond affecting humans differently, but if Cas was gonna have some mental break down because he thought he’d just ruined everything, Dean was going to do everything he could to reassure Cas it was all perfectly normal, and that he was an amazing individual, regardless of whether he thought himself one or not.

“Why don’t you think you’re as important as I am?” He asked softly, raising Castiel’s chin as gently as he could. He didn’t want to hurt the guy, but he still wanted to see his face; watch for any alarming change in his appearance – a warning as to whether he was saying anything Cas didn’t want to hear.

Castiel’s face was still incredibly warm, almost hot to the touch, and Cas seemed just as unsettled by it as Dean thought it to be worrisome; pressing the tips of his fingers to his cheeks in something of an attempt to cool them, mindful of where Dean’s thumbs were situated. “You’re my responsibility, and I need to keep you happy.”

“No,” Dean murmured. “Gabriel told you that you didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Remember?”

Castiel kept staring down at Dean’s chest, his smile having completely vanished. “But then I won’t be important at all.”

Dean sighed. “I don’t get it, dude. I mean, I’d still think you’d be important. To me, anyway. You’d still be important to me.”

“Dean –“

“No, Cas, can I just … look: if I was to ask some random person on the street if they thought I was important, they would say ‘no’. But that’s because they don’t know anything about me,” Dean started, dipping his head to try and catch Castiel’s eye. The angel abruptly looked over to the doorway, his lips pressed firmly together to form a near straight line. “If I asked Sammy, he would say something different, because he knows me better than some stranger, and yeah, his answer would be a little biased, but that’s the point I’m trying to make. The whole importance ideal is down to personal opinion and judgment, so who out of those two people is right in saying whether I’m actually important or not in the first place?”

“You _are_ more importa –“

“No, dude! I’m not!” Dean cried, wincing when Castiel’s expression became pained, his brow furrowing and his lips pressing ever tighter together. “You might _think_ I’m more important, but it’s not a fact,” he added gently. “And I know you’re entitled to an opinion and all, but you shouldn’t be thinking that you’re less important than anyone else.”

Castiel continued to keep his eyes averted, almost like he hadn’t taken in anything Dean had said, so Dean let his hands fall from the angel’s face, resting them by his sides on the mattress. It was useless trying to convince Cas otherwise, but he simply didn’t understand Castiel’s reasoning. Hell, it wasn’t even a reason at all. It was more like a feeble excuse because yet again, Cas’ orders had revolved around keeping Dean happy: putting the human before everything else.

The whole idea of angels being forced to ignore their own wants and the like purely because they had to watch over some inept fucking human being was stupid. Dean had told Castiel time and time again to stop thinking about it; to actually do what he wanted and stop worrying about Dean’s happiness and shit all the time, but it seemed almost mandatory for the guy.

Fucking ridiculous.

But it wasn’t Castiel’s fault, and he didn’t know who else to blame other than himself for getting so fucking pissed off in the first place. He just wanted Cas to lead a normal happy life, where he wasn’t constantly inflicted with pain, or on edge all the time because he thought something bad was gonna happen, and then maybe Cas would have chosen someone more appropriate to bond with.

“Can you move off me for a minute, please Cas? I need to use the bathroom.”

Castiel sprang back obediently, perpetually fussing and pulling at the hem of his shirt as he stood and waited for Dean to go. Dean took one last look at the angel before turning to leave, a mild longing for a few minutes of closure – stress free and silent so he could think properly. He didn’t want to leave Cas alone too long, but he needed to construct some other believable reason as to why Cas was just as important as he was – just as important as any other person who’d had a positive influence on his life.

“B-but you’re my duty, Dean. You need to be my main priority,” Castiel stammered at last, his voice timid and shaky, decreasing in volume as the sentence continued. It hurt to hear Cas use the word ‘duty’, like Dean was nothing more than another fucking chore. Responsibility was incredibly different to actually caring about someone, and if that was the first thing that came to mind when Castiel considered why Dean was even important, then that was pretty fucking insightful to what Cas actually thought of him in reality.

“So I’m still nothing more than some assignment to you?”

“I … you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then enlighten me, Castiel,” Dean prompted, turning around. “Or am I still too untrustworthy to be told anything? Because it seems no matter how honest I am with you, you still don’t want to talk about yourself, and it’s really fucking unfair!”

He hadn’t meant to sound as spiteful as he did, and to be honest, he hadn’t even meant to bring it up, but he couldn’t take the words back now. The damage was done.

“Unfair?!” The angel bellowed, looking up with a face like fucking thunder. The glow around his body flared with an odd kind of darkness, nowhere near as appealing as the bright pink and blue shades of light he’d seen earlier. “Telling you of my history isn’t compulsory, Dean! I don’t have to tell you anything if I don’t want to!”

“Then why the hell do I have to talk about myself all the time? You _know_ everything already – you watched it all fucking _happen_! I don’t –“ he cut himself off, running a hand over his face, trying to calm himself down. Castiel continued to stare at him, no longer shy and fidgeting, but almost frozen in place, mouth pulled into a tight frown. Dean should have found Castiel’s expression intimidating, because the last time he’d seen Cas look as terrifying as this was when he was shown that argument with Uriel weeks ago.

But he wasn’t going to let this go now that it’d been addressed, because if they shared a stronger bond, surely that meant he was _entitled_ to know about Castiel. He ‘owned’ Cas, and as much as he hated to even think about their relationship like that, it had to mean he had a little more power than he did before. After all, before it was a one-way thing: Castiel being permitted to know all there was to know about Dean because he had been given the power to do so. They were equals now, maybe not in strength, but in terms of entitlement.

What’s mine is yours, and all that crap.

 

*

 

“You said before that I’d be able to relate to whatever happened in your past, so I don’t really understand why you still refuse to tell me about it – especially if it’s similar to what I’ve told you.”

Castiel balled his hands into fists, letting them swing to his sides as the heat washed over his senses; a more severe heat than the blush itself provided, and he found himself growing more and more irritated with the way Dean had begun to treat him.

There was no respect, no care for how the topic of conversation could trigger memories he didn’t want to encounter until he was prepared to tell them of his own accord. He shouldn’t even have to explain himself – Dean should be accepting and considerate like he usually was; selfless and happy to give Castiel privacy. But he wasn’t. He was being the opposite, and it was infuriating.

“You have no right to ask me that,” Castiel snarled, his pulse sounding in his ears. Dean was the one being unfair – this … _interrogation_ wasn’t fair. Castiel hadn’t said, or done anything wrong in order to irate Dean so _much_. He might’ve annoyed the man a little with his choice of vocabulary, but Dean should have known better than to assume Castiel didn’t care for him at all!

“Are you joking?” The man scoffed, an almost cruel smile pulling at his lips. “Cas, you keep telling me that it’s my lack of trust in _you_ that’s preventing you from telling me anything, and I’ve thought about it a lot since you said it to be honest, and I have to say: I can’t help but wonder if it’s because you don’t trust _me_?”

Castiel felt the nauseous sensation climb up his chest, a crippling ache starting in his stomach. He couldn’t _believe_ Dean was saying something so harsh – so unnecessary and ridiculous, purely because he was prying and selfish.

“It’s never enough, is it, Dean? No matter how much I do for you, you keep asking me for something that I am not comfortable sharing. I do everything you ask and the one time I ask something of you, you blatantly disregard it purely because you’re stubborn and ignorant,” Castiel told him, walking around the man to leave the room, like Dean should have done several minutes ago.

He shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. He should have waited for Dean to calm himself.

Castiel had not expected a response quite like Dean had given. He had expected a more courteous reply; one that asked him to explain what he meant further, not an accusatory statement. He would have been more than happy to give Dean a better answer if Dean had asked him to elaborate, or suggest a few more reasons because sometimes one was never enough, but it was utterly infuriating to have something so malicious aimed at him.

Everything he did was for Dean’s benefit, and he only wished Dean could understand as much. Maybe then Dean wouldn’t shout, and he would simply leave Castiel to talk about himself when he felt ready.

He was mid-way down the staircase when he realized that not only had he forgotten to take his blade with him, but he was also wearing too little clothing to actually venture outside of the house. He grimaced, considering turning around when he remembered the blankets in the living room, and he made his way there swiftly, bundling the thickest one in his arms before heading out into the front yard.

It was barren, the snow making the garden look empty and rather dull, but Castiel was merely grateful there was no one around to see him wander outside in the first place. Obviously, there was always the chance that someone would walk past, but if Castiel situated himself behind the wooden banister to the right hand side of the house, he could quite easily hide from sight.

So he did, sitting down on the cold wood of the porch with the blanket around his shoulders, bringing his knees up to his chest to conceal his bare legs beneath the comforter, shivering. He knew it would have been incredibly cold before he even stepped out into the open air, but he would much rather sit on his own where he knew Dean would not disturb him and bombard him with yet more ridiculous questions than remain inside for the next few hours.

He knew Dean would probably reprimand him for being so stupid, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Castiel had every right to do as he pleased, and if he wanted to stay outside for as long as he wanted, then he would do so. It wasn’t like Dean had as much power as Raphael did. Dean couldn’t make him do anything.

Castiel lifted the hem of the blanket to bury his face beneath it, shielding it from the snowflakes that swirled around him. He’d visited heavens before where snow had been present, although they had been more enjoyable to view than this landscape. It was the sort of thing he missed: visiting the many Heavens humans had created for themselves.

He could remember visiting Mary Winchester’s own shortly after she had passed away. She had relied upon an assortment of memories, ranging from attending Dean’s first school play, no matter how much the boy had hated standing up in front of an audience, to the last time they had been a real family; Sam tiny in her arms as they sat in the secluded forest overlooking the lake. Dean had gone swimming with his father, stripping off to the bare minimum and jumping from the ragged tire-swing into the water, making both his parents laugh.

Castiel had visited her on more than one occasion to speak with her, more so to inform her of how her family was than for his own personal desire to converse. Sometimes he showed her through the mist how much both her boys were growing, but he never really showed her John. Not unless the man had been in a good mood. Castiel didn’t want her to see her husband at his worst.

She always seemed happy; adding clips of what Castiel had shown her to her own memories like that of a scrapbook.

He always put in an effort when visiting her, careful of what he said, and even more so of what he showed – especially when Dean began to display signs of distraction at school. And he always hid his wings from her view – not because he didn’t trust her not to be somewhat sympathetic or intrigued by their colour, but because he knew that she would have heard the rumours. He didn’t want to scare her, or make her worried to know that _he_ was the one watching over one of her children, so he made up a name, hoping that no other angel would tell her of his true identity.

None of them seemed to be overly bothered, and it was rare for another angel to visit her – only if they were passing by for inspection, and they never seemed to acknowledge Castiel’s presence, so Castiel didn’t really mind that he was sighted in her Heaven.

It was shortly after Dean’s fourteenth birthday that he stopped visiting Mary; shortly after Raphael had told him to stop helping Dean.

He felt awful for not showing his face, but the thought of her seeing how unhappy Dean was becoming without the emotional aid convinced him not to go. It was better for her to remember everything good, than to witness the effect her absence had on each member of her family.

It would have been even more horrific if he had shown her how John had begun to cope.

Castiel shuffled around a little, flinching when the wood scratched at the base of his feet, making the skin sting and burn a little. It wasn’t that painful though, a little irritating, but the cold numbed most of the ache, allowing him to relax a bit more than he’d be able to inside.

The thought of going in to find Dean remained unappealing, and although he should be watching out for the man, he didn’t want to. Not now, even if he did miss Dean’s presence terribly.

If anything, he wanted Dean to find him, because this time it wasn’t Castiel who owed an apology. He hadn’t deserved to be treated like that. He never demanded Dean to talk about himself; Castiel let the man do that in his own time. Clearly, Dean was too caught up on his own selfish thoughts to even realise.

Castiel wasn’t going to take the blame for this argument.

He relaxed against the outer wall of the house, staring out onto the street and watching the odd car drive slowly over the tarmac. The road wasn’t completely cleared from the snow, its surface concealed beneath a layer of ice. Most of it was fairly clear, a whitened tinge or patch of frost decorating the street, but some of it was dark; invisible and most likely more dangerous. He’d have to remind Dean to be careful if he was considering driving around later that afternoon. Or for the rest of the week, for that matter.

He looked over to the front door briefly before scowling and hugging his knees closer to his chest. He didn’t like fighting with Dean, and although he knew he was right himself, he didn’t like the thought of Dean being overly angry with him.

That wasn’t to say he was going to go and change that immediately because Dean also needed to calm down before they spoke again, otherwise it’d only cause more problems.

 

*

 

“Cas? Are you okay?”

Castiel blinked, twisting his head to stare up at the younger boy. His head throbbed, and he couldn’t feel much else other than a want to fall asleep right where he was sitting. “H-hello.”

“Why the hell are you outside? Did Dean kick you out?” Sam cried, dropping down beside him to try and get him to stand.

“Ah … no. I didn’t want to talk to him. I came out here of my own accord,” Castiel murmured, burying his nose beneath the blanket shyly. His neck hurt and his eyelids felt heavy, but it would be rude not to talk to Sam, and as much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t ignore Sam’s concern. Not when the boy was as delightful as Dean usually was.

He struggled to his feet, his legs numb and uncooperative, not aiding his balance in the slightest, and he tried to ignore the comment the boy passed on his lack of clothing, focussing more intently on how very, very cold it was, and how incredibly difficult it was to make his joints move. It probably wasn’t wise to have waited outside for so long, but there wasn’t much he could do to change the past, so he’d simply deal with it. It wasn’t like it hurt him anyway.

“Did you guys have a fight?” Sam asked quietly, and Castiel looked down at the splintered porch decking beneath his feet, taking note of how he couldn’t actually feel it. He could _see_ his feet touching the floor, but he couldn’t feel much other than a slight twinge of pain in both his thighs when he stepped forward.

He was beginning to wonder why he’d even bothered staying out as long as he had. He had been completely conscious, but he couldn’t remember much of sitting there at all, and perhaps if he’d been a little more alert to his surroundings, he could have entered the house sooner as opposed to letting his limbs grow heavy and weak in the cold air.

“I think so,” he answered, shrugging. “He annoyed me, so I sat here to think for a while.”

It was … it was darker than he remembered it being last. And of course, since Sam was home, that had to mean it was around about four in the afternoon.

So … he’d been outside for a few hours … four and a half? Maybe a little more, maybe a little less – he didn’t really care. At least he knew why he was feeling so very peculiar. Being outside in the winter weather with nothing more than a blanket to keep him warm wasn’t exactly advisable, but he could use his blade if anything was wrong, and everything would be absolutely fine again.

Sam opened the door for him, and Castiel wandered through, not bothering to suppress his yawn as he entered the hallway. It was most assuredly warmer than it was outside, and Castiel conjured a smile onto his face when the boy looked across at him, eager to show how grateful he was that Sam had alerted him to the time, because it was quite obvious that Dean did not care about his absence.

He brushed that thought aside because he was trying to be more cheerful around Sam, and thinking about how Dean didn’t care for him would only make things more difficult.

“Come with me,” Sam said, holding his wrist through the blanket to lead him down the hall to the kitchen. Castiel was pleased to find that Dean was not in the room, an unwillingness to talk just yet, in spite of the hours they’d spent without each other’s presence. It felt odd, but even though Castiel wanted to _see_ Dean, he would only talk if Dean apologised. Castiel was not in the mood to coax a simple ‘sorry’ from the man’s lips when Dean was perfectly able to do so without a prompt.

He sat down at the kitchen table, watching Sam switch on the kettle and take out two mugs from the open cupboard.

“So what did he say to piss you off?” Sam queried, grabbing the small coffee pot from the side to add a few teaspoons of ground coffee to the bottom, assembling the odd little contraption in order to strain it later.

Castiel draped the blanket over his lap, smoothing his hands over the creases. “He was trying to pursue a topic that, in spite of me telling him a few times now, I am not entirely comfortable with discussing just yet. I …” he wet his lips, staring down at his hands. “I just want him to understand that I will talk about it when I’m ready, and not simply because he’s interested.”

Sam hummed, and Castiel smiled appreciatively, going on to rub his hands over his biceps. He knew that Sam would not really understand how very frustrating the situation was, so he decided to divert the attention; a way of making a distraction for the both of them. “So how are things with Jessica? Is she doing well?”

The boy grinned over his shoulder. “She’s fine. I mean, she’s invited me round for dinner on Friday to meet her parents and stuff, but obviously I need to ask Dean before then.”

“I’m sure he’ll let you go,” Castiel assured him, looking around the room absent mindedly.

It went a little quiet after that, and it had Castiel wondering where the man actually was. It felt odd not to hear some sort of noise – from either the television, or the stereo Dean kept in his room – so Castiel was unsure of where to place Dean’s location exactly.

“You like your coffee black, right?” Sam chirped when the kettle made that familiar clicking noise, the water bubbling away inside the body and sounding low about the otherwise silent kitchen space.

“Y-yes,” he gave in response, looking over to the kitchen doorway hopefully. It didn’t feel right without Dean nearby – it never felt right – and he hoped the man was okay. He didn’t like the thought of Dean doing anything stupid because of what was said earlier.

“You want me to go get him for you?”

Castiel snapped his gaze back to where Sam stood, watching the boy force down the metallic filter to prepare the coffee. He both wanted to see Dean, but also didn’t – only if Dean was ready, and Castiel didn’t want to have another fight in front of Sam when it was about something so personal.

“I don’t know,” he admitted as Sam brought over the hot drink, thanking the younger Winchester as he took hold of the mug.

“Well, I’m gonna go get you a sweater and some pants anyway, so I’ll just let him know you’re inside or something,” Sam told him, leaving the room almost immediately.

Castiel looked down at his drink, the dark liquid swilling around when he tilted it toward him slightly. It didn’t seem as appealing to him as it usually did, and he still felt rather nauseous. The fact that he still felt so cold wasn’t helping, but then again, the drink had probably been provided to make him warm again.

He set it down on the table whilst he waited for it to cool, owing to the fact that the heat of the china had begun to hurt the tips of his fingers, and although it was a relief to know the numbness caused by the cold was subsiding, he would still rather not be in pain than to warm his hands up as quickly as they had been.

Sam returned a few moments later, surprisingly without any clothing in his hands. “Uhhh,” the boy started. “He says he wants to see you.”

Castiel looked over to the empty doorway through which Sam had just entered again. “Yes. Well, if he wanted to speak to me, he could have done so at any point over the past four hours.”

“You were outside for _four hours_?!” Sam screeched, and Castiel ducked his head, rather embarrassed by his own stupidity. He could see Sam rush out of the room from the corner of his eye, before resting his head in his hands, closing his eyes when the younger Winchester began to thud up the staircase.

The shouting followed soon after; more so Sam than Dean, and he cringed because he hadn’t wanted this kind of attention. He knew Sam was only trying to help but it was the kind of thing that would probably only make Dean more upset, and consequently harder to talk to.

Castiel wasn’t even sure if he was ready to talk to Dean. It was yet another one of those situations where making a decision was even harder than normal, based on how it would pan out overall, and Castiel didn’t know whether to act in favour of _Dean’s_ wants, or his own, a strong impulse to stay silent until he heard what he wanted to hear; and an apology was his most sought after mention.

“… For fuck's sake – stop pushing me!” Dean hissed, and Castiel could feel his face grow warmer knowing that there wasn’t really any way he could escape this conversation – not unless he used his idiocy as an excuse to rest, or something along those lines. It was actually making him feel quite nervous to have to speak to Dean immediately – especially without Sam there to keep everything relatively peaceful.

Castiel looked over as Dean stumbled into the room after a very firm push, the man casting something of a dirty look back at Sam as he regained his balance, a bright blush on his face. Castiel actually had to refrain from smirking, looking down at his mug of coffee as some form of distraction.

Dean remained still in the room for a few moments, as far as Castiel could tell, before deciding to join Castiel at the table, seating himself opposite. “Uh, hi.”

“Hello,” Castiel offered out of politeness, doing nothing to make his tone friendly or inviting because Dean didn’t even deserve a civil response in the first place. It hurt to think as much, but then again, it had hurt when Dean had demanded information from him. Castiel could treat the man however harshly he wanted.

There was a bout of silence that followed, Castiel keeping his eyes trained on the ceramic mug. He felt like he was ignoring the man without making eye-contact – or at least, he probably seemed rude … maybe even timid – but that wasn’t what he was trying to achieve. Looking at Dean would make it harder to concentrate, and Castiel didn’t want to see some form of apologetic glance, because that wasn’t the equivalent of an apology itself. He wanted words – truthful words; genuine and convincing.

“I … look, about earlier. I didn’t mean to make you angry, and the last thing I wanted was for you to spend several hours out in the snow. I mean, what were you thinking, Cas? Going out in that kind of weather wearing just your underwear and a fucking blanket?”

Castiel raised the mug to his lips, blowing on the dark liquid. He wasn’t sure if Dean was planning on continuing this would-be soliloquy, or whether he expected an answer, but if it was the latter; Castiel didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted tell Dean that it was alright, before going on to explain the pathetic reasoning he’d attempted to offer Sam before, but another part of him to offend Dean, to tell the truth and make him aware of how very annoying it was to have such memories crowd to the surface when he’d spend over one-hundred years blocking them from his thoughts. And obviously there were the most recent issues – some from even before plucking up the courage to meet the man in the first place that had him seething with rage, because he wasn’t ready! He shouldn’t be expected to talk about himself like it was some sort of exchange.

“I didn’t want to talk to you,” Castiel muttered, setting the mug back down without even thinking. “I don’t even know if I want to talk to you now. Sam didn’t … I didn’t _ask_ for you to come and see me.”

“You want me to leave?” Dean asked softly, and Castiel could detect the hurt in his voice without even glancing at his soul for confirmation, a strange ache building up in the centre of his chest at the mere thought of Dean abandoning him now; abandoning him without even saying _sorry_.

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, dropping his face to his hands again, rubbing beneath his eyes. “Just … stop talking for a minute.”

He could practically feel Dean tense up from across the table, and it immediately made him feel worse. He didn’t even know why he was worrying about Dean’s attitude right now, because his lack of understanding was truly infuriating. Being alone with Dean in a silent environment wasn’t as bad as he’d expected though, and the company made it that much more … durable. Castiel had always found talking to others difficult, but although Dean was more approachable than most, it still wasn’t easy – and now there was even more pressure, knowing that either of them could say something incredibly wrong and cause the other to become even more upset.

Castiel folded his arms over the tabletop, resting his forehead on them as he tried to control his shivering. He probably looked weak and pathetic, but he was more concerned about what he could actually say. He’d tried to make it clear before that he didn’t want to be confronted about his past, but Dean hadn’t said anything that could even hint to being sorry for that topic specifically. Of course, he’d addressed making Castiel angry, but why had that been, exactly? Why had he felt the need to pursue the topic as aggressively as he had when Castiel had tried to be so very calm when discussing it in the past? It was like Dean was purposely trying to antagonize him; rile him up in order to get the information he wanted.

Castiel was surprised when he heard the chair scrape back against the kitchen tiles, but he didn’t show any signs of reaction, because that would imply that he cared. Dean’s presence wasn’t essential; merely enjoyable in the sense that Dean’s company was usually pleasant and calming. The atmosphere today wasn’t calm, so it would probably make Castiel more relaxed without Dean in the room, no matter how much he truly wanted the man to stay now that he’d arrived.

He hated the way he continually changed his mind. One minute being content without Dean’s presence, yet as soon as the man had left Castiel was pining for his company. If Sam hadn’t made the man come down in the first place, Castiel’s wants would have been mutual, back to the simple not-really-minding whether Dean was there or not.

He couldn’t help but flinch when the fingers touched his knee, tilting his head a little to look down at Dean who sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. The man seemed to be appalled by the temperature of Castiel’s skin, flinching a little, but Castiel didn’t really feel that different, and he didn’t care for Dean’s attention, so he looked back to the table. Again.

Dean cleared his throat. “Err, Sam gave me some clothes, to give you, cos’ you’re absolutely fucking freezing, and I- _we_ don’t want you catching hypothermia or something.”

Castiel sat up, turning his head to meet Dean’s gaze intently, not wanting to glance away for a second. He could see the faint glimmer of Dean’s soul, a grey-ish blue in colour, yet he was smiling brightly, holding out the clothing like some sort of peace offering.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured quietly, and there was a brief flash of yellow across the orb before it faded back into the dull colour scheme, replicating how Castiel felt himself. He rose to his feet, folding the blanket and placing it on the seat of the chair before taking the clothing from Dean’s hands carefully to set it on the table, allowing Dean to return to his initial position in his prior seat.

But the man stayed where he was, smile slipping and his eyes slightly glazed, and Castiel didn’t really understand why the man wasn’t moving away. He had no real reason to stay there, unless it was to purely watch Castiel dress himself, but the man was usually so subtle about it, so Castiel assumed that wasn’t the case.

“I’m sorry,” Dean mumbled weakly, and Castiel didn’t stop to smile or forgive the man. He simply pulled on the sweatpants as if Dean had said nothing at all, because that was what it was equivalent to. Sorry for _what,_ exactly? Dean hadn’t specified what it was he was apologizing for, and if Dean had chosen to leave it at a simple ‘I’m sorry’, Castiel would have shunned the man for a further few hours before even considering speaking to Dean again.

But Dean seemed persistent – almost well prepared; rehearsed. It was peculiar, and although it was somewhat stilted and evident in terms of Dean’s nervousness, it was actually rather charming to listen to.

“I’ve been a dick to you since we fist met, and today I was completely out of line. I … I didn’t respect your privacy when I really should have, and it wasn’t fair o-of me to put you in a position like that,” Dean started, rubbing at the back of his neck and staring down at the kitchen floor. “I’m not even gonna bother making excuse for myself because it was stupid and childish, and I – Sam! Shut up!”

Castiel smirked at the sound of Sam’s giggling in the corridor. He didn’t mind that Sam was listening in. Not really. It made it more entertaining, knowing that he wasn’t the only one hearing Dean embarrass himself.

“Carry on,” Castiel prompted, attempting to keep his voice expressionless and empty.

Dean looked up at him for a brief moment, his cheeks flushed, before staring down at his hands as he pulled a loose thread from the sleeve of his hoodie. “I’m really sorry, okay? For everything I’ve said, and everything I’ve put you through – and not just from now, but I mean over the past few years, because I’m fairly certain that your job wasn’t easy, a-and …” the man paused, lowering his voice. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had – you’re actually _more_ than that, but … can we … can we go somewhere else to talk about this? Sam is literally right there in the hallway, and I don’t really want to have this conversation with him listening in.”

Castiel could hear Sam laugh again, and he looked over to the doorway for a moment. “I’d very much appreciate it if you kept talking.”

He shifted down onto the floor, seating himself in a cross-legged position directly opposite the man before reaching out a hand, raising Dean’s chin with the pad of his index finger so that their faces were level. “I’d also appreciate it if you looked at me whilst doing so.”

Dean went darker in colour as he attempted to meet Castiel’s gaze, his eyes never focussing on any one point in particular, darting around nervously. It was amusing to see him so very flustered, and he was actually rather tempted to invite Sam to join them in the kitchen.

“Uhhh,” Dean started again, lowering his voice even more. “You … you remember when you said you didn’t want a partner?”

“I do,” he stated, pulling his hand back to he could rest his chin in his palms, his elbows balancing on his knees. Dean had started to fidget again, picking at his sleeve, and making it even more threadbare.

“I-I wanted to know if … if maybe you’d consider me. To be your partner I mean,” Dean continued, looking down at his hands again.

Castiel suppressed his smile, biting the insides of his cheeks. He was a little surprised, to be perfectly honest. He hadn’t expected Dean to have found the confidence to say as such, despite his successful attempts with others in the past. When Gabriel had shown him Dean’s thoughts, they’d displayed something of a reluctance to bring it up, an uneasiness that had Dean worrying about whether it would ruin their friendship or not – because the man had even said as such. He had never had a friend like Castiel, and he had initially appeared to have cared about their friendship over a romantic relationship, purely because he was worried about how Castiel would react.

But that wasn’t the case now. It was like even though Dean had been completely honest about everything else in the past, this was the one thing he hadn’t admitted to yet, and although Castiel imagined it could be some sort of attempt at learning about his history, what with the whole issue of trust being the catalyst for such an argument to emerge, it was wonderful that Dean was being a little more confident.

Castiel understood that it was a difficult topic to address, mainly because he hadn’t had a clue himself as to how he could convey his feelings to the man without simply kissing him, so he truly did appreciate Dean’s boldness in terms of asking such a thing, because it made things much easier for himself.

“Why?” He asked, although he already knew the answer. He was curious as to how much Dean was willing to reveal on the subject, and whether it was purely because he felt bad for their argument or not. Of course, the argument had been the instigator of a fashion, but he didn’t want Dean to hold back. He wanted to hear the words from Dean’s mouth, rather than merely relying upon what Gabriel had told him and the thoughts he had been provided with.

“Well,” Dean cleared his throat again. “Because I want to make you happy.” He stalled when Sam stared to snigger again, something of a scowl crossing his features, and Castiel leant closer, staring up at Dean through his lashes. “I mean, it’s not just because of … of what happened this morning, because I’ve liked you since we first met. I … I understand if you don’t want to, because I know you might not like me in that way, and anyway, you have every right to still be pissed off at me, but I promise you: I’m not gonna ask you about that again! I-it’s none of my business, and if you don’t want to share that sort of stuff with me, then I’m totally okay with it.”

The room went quiet after that – even Sam out in the corridor kept silent – and Castiel tilted his head as he tried to examine Dean’s facial expression. It wasn’t the sort of apology he’d been expecting, but Dean had most assuredly said sorry for the issue Castiel had been concerned about, and that was the most important factor.

It was clear that Dean knew it had been wrong, and now he was trying to make up for it, going as far as to embarrass himself purely to show how very apologetic and sincere he was.

Obviously, Dean had always been rather honest – maybe not about everything, but about the things that mattered most, and the situation Castiel had been placed in because of his honesty was rather exciting.

“Okay,” he announced, jolting forward to crush their mouths together. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing, but Dean would understand, and Castiel would learn.

Then Dean would be even happier.


	12. A Feather in the Wind

 

For many hours and days that pass ever soon  
The tides have caused the flame to dim  
At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom  
Is this to end or just begin?  
All of my love, all of my love  
All of my love to you

_Led Zeppelin_

 

 

Dean fell back against the floor, one of Castiel’s palms supporting the back of his head so it didn’t go cracking against the tiles, whilst the other rested at the base of his neck, cold fingers pressing to his skin forcefully. In spite of the chill Castiel provided, Dean was hot all over; his skin burning from embarrassment and now Goddamn arousal as the angel ground down on his pelvis almost desperately.

He felt like he was gonna explode with fucking exhilaration, or excitement, or whatever completely awesome word could even attempt to explain the uttermost joy filling his mind at that moment in time.

Cas _liked_ him.

Cas motherfucking _liked him back!_

He really couldn’t put into words just how happy he was – like seriously! If Cas had made him happy before, then what the hell did that mean now? He couldn’t _ever_ remembering feeling as utterly amazing as this in his whole fucking life!

And he knew for a _fact_ that Cas was being all sincere about it, because he’d been more than a little surprised to suddenly have his mouth fucked by Castiel’s tongue.

Seriously though! Cas was a friggin’ expert for someone who claimed to have never kissed someone before; quick, smooth strokes between Dean’s lips that had him panting, his hands skirting beneath Castiel’s shirt to hike the clothing up higher and touch at the frozen flesh of the angel’s back. He rubbed at the skin in an attempt to make it somewhat warmer, edging his fingers toward the waistband of Cas’ sweats as he encouraged the sharp rutting of Castiel’s hips.

“Oh my God!” Sam cried. “We _eat_ in here!”

Dean smiled around Castiel’s mouth, amused by the fact that his brother had stuck around long enough to see the whole fucking exchange. Of course, he was still gonna punch the kid for being a nosy little douche bag, waiting out in the hallway with that smug _I-told-you-so_ expression on his face after basically forcing Dean to go make the stupid confession in the first place. He knew he should be _kind of_ grateful for the prompt, because this was definitely one of the best decisions he’d made in a while, but he wasn’t gonna say as much. Sam would only rub it in his face even more, and the whole ‘I knew you liked him’ speech before was irritating enough as it was.

Castiel drew back abruptly, staring down at Dean with lidded eyes and bright pink lips from the force of the kiss. “Not ... not all the time,” Cas breathed, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh, watching Castiel’s Grace turn almost white in colour – like some drawing from a children’s bible Dean had looked at as a kid. It had that blue outline, but the pinks and stuff had vanished completely from the manifestation. It looked pure, in a way that Dean had always imagined angels to look, and Cas looked absolutely fucking stunning displaying the same unadulterated splendour that the illustrations had held.

Dean sat up, pulling Cas closer and kissing his neck. The angel was still so fucking cold – it was actually a wonder the guy wasn’t comatose or anything. Dean had heard stories before about people falling asleep in the cold and being hospitalized for months because of it.

Okay, maybe they’d had some kind of injury prior, but it was still worrying to think about. Cas could have fucking _died_ from being out there for so long, and it would have been Dean’s fault entirely. He just hoped Cas would heal himself or something – to check for any kind of damage to his body. Sickness, frostbite – that sort of thing.

The sort of thing that was way more important than making out in the room they prepared food in.

“We ... we can go somewhere else – so you can get warm,” Dean suggested pathetically, tugging down the base of Castiel’s shirt before rubbing at his back through the material, producing as much kinetic heat as he could. Cas seemed pretty much unfazed by the threat of infirmity, scratching his fingers through Dean’s hair and humming softly to himself, all whilst rocking forward subtly against Dean’s crotch, apparently reluctant to cease the movement.

But Dean didn’t really want it to stop – hell, he’d been without this sort of contact for _weeks_. He’d simply been waiting for _this fucking moment_ ; he’d been longing for some sort of sign as to whether the angel actually liked him or not, and yes: maybe in his mind he’d imagined it to be a little different – preferably without his brother eavesdropping – but all that really mattered was that Cas was okay with them being partners. Like, _actual_ partners.

With kissing, and cuddling in bed – and fucking _sex!_

That is, if Cas _wanted_ that sort of relationship. Dean would be totally cool with it if he didn’t but at the rate Cas was going, it was probably something he could expect in the future.

He met the angel’s eye for a brief moment, before Cas was dipping his head back down to brush his lips over Dean’s again. The mere gesture had heat scorching through his veins, and he longed to have Castiel kissing him fully; to simply hold him close in the bed, even if they did nothing, and to make him warm as Dean listened to his breathing, just indulging himself in the angel’s company.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Cas mumbled, seemingly ignoring Dean’s previous comment as he rubbed behind Dean’s ears with his thumbs, hovering over Dean’s mouth as they shared the hot air between them. “You idiot.”

Dean smirked, closing his eyes as Castiel’s fingers worked down over his jaw, rubbing at the slight stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave off. “I did offer.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh. “Yes, because you ‘ _didn’t want to kiss me’_.”

“Yeah ... I might’ve lied a little.”

“Just a little?” Castiel teased, that coy smile playing on his lips.

“Mmmnn,” he hummed, as Castiel kissed him once more, breaking out in a grin and parting his lips, welcoming Cas back into his mouth.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he was this excited – it felt like there were thousands of butterflies flitting around in his stomach, and he found himself clinging to every minor gesture – every slight movement that Castiel made – as he reminded himself that this was real. It was very much real.

And it was quite easily one of the best days of Dean’s life.

 

*

 

Castiel kissed Dean until his lips felt bruised and overly-sensitive; until Dean broke away laughing, stating that they should really talk about it, but Castiel didn’t want to stop, even if it did make his mouth ache a little.

He liked the noises Dean made, and how they vibrated against his tongue, and how Dean tasted in general, combined with the bitter aftertaste of his coffee. Everything about it was wonderful – especially the way Dean touched him. The man was careful when it came to positioning his hands, but they left hot trails over his flesh wherever they made contact, setting all of Castiel’s senses alight with want.

He didn’t even _care_ where Dean touched him, so long as he could still feel the heat from his palms, burning through the fabric of his sweatpants as they dragged along the material, bunching it up around his pelvis as Castiel pressed into the hold, encouraging Dean to shift his hands higher; to place claim on every part of him.

Maybe kissing wasn’t quite as important as discussing the relationship itself, but Castiel rarely got to act upon one of his own wants, and this was one he knew for a fact Dean did not mind.

So he remained seated on Dean’s lap, nipping at his lower lip and pulling at the man’s hair lightly, having abandoned his coffee on the bedside cabinet some thirty minutes ago. This was much better than coffee anyhow, and unlike the drink, Dean had yet to grow cold in temperature.

“Fuck,” Dean sighed as Castiel drew the plump flesh between his own lips, sucking on it as he started up a slow rhythm with his hips again, gentle thrusts that had Dean making a most peculiar noise. It almost fuelled his movements; the sounds Dean made – whether they were slight gasps or blissful moans – provided Castiel with that tiny bit more motivation to keep doing what he was doing; to stop the room from falling silent, because it truly was exciting to have Dean so enthralled.

And obviously, it gave him yet another excuse to continue, eager to keep pleasing Dean with his actions.

He opened his eyes lazily as he drew back, letting go of Dean’s lip carefully and lifting the man’s chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. He could see that the man’s soul had become shrouded in pink, the bright blaze of gold in the centre and the tiniest yellow rays darting over the pink body when Castiel hovered, simply breathing into Dean’s open mouth. It was hard to explain just how much he enjoyed the moment _before_ they kissed; the spark of adrenaline making every nerve in his body burn with expectancy, and for a few seconds he could think of nothing more important than delving back into the wet heat, letting his tongue tangle with Dean’s once more.

But he didn’t, because they really did need to talk, and they had plenty of time to continue this later ... or whilst they went about the conversation. Castiel was sure they could alternate between the two.

He ran his fingertips over Dean’s throat, smiling when their eyes met before pushing his hand through Dean’s hair again, resting his arms over the man’s shoulders as he pressed their foreheads together.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Dean said softly, leaning back against the headboard and pulling on the blanket so it draped over Castiel’s shoulders again. That was how they had initially been seated together: Castiel straddling Dean’s hips, with a blanket around his shoulders to keep him warm.

Before he’d gotten distracted.

“I don’t feel all that warm,” Castiel informed him, angling his chest closer to Dean’s to prevent the comforter from sliding down his back again and to increase his body temperature. The man was incredibly warm himself – radiating heat and protecting Castiel from the chill of the bedroom.

Dean grinned, closing his eyes, as he became more relaxed. “Well, yeah, in terms of temperature and stuff you’re still pretty cold, but I meant it as a compliment.”

Castiel watched the light pink touch at the man’s cheeks. “How so?”

“For starters, you’re absolutely fucking stunning,” Dean murmured, the blush decorating his skin gently. “And then there’s just the way you are in general – like, personality-wise. Everything about you is sexy.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile, nosing at Dean’s warm flesh and moving lower to kiss his jaw. “You think I’m _sexy_?”

“Well, yeah. You are.”

Castiel could feel his face emit a certain warmth as he himself found himself blushing, ducking his head beneath Dean’s chin so the man wouldn’t be able to his face should he open his eyes anytime soon.

“Thank you,” he mumbled against Dean’s skin, tightening his arms around his partner’s neck. “I consider you to be the same.”

The man laughed at this, bringing his arms up to cradle Castiel close, sliding his arms around his waist and pulling him forward so Cas was lain atop his chest comfortably. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Castiel.”

It was quiet for a minute, Castiel relaxing completely in Dean's hold whilst the man rubbed at his back through the blanket, making it that much more warmer and calming.

"So you've liked me for a while, huh?" Dean asked softy, and Castiel smiled, even if Dean was unable to see.

"Gabriel explained the sentiments to me on Thanksgiving," Castiel replied, keeping his voice low as he listened to Dean's heartbeat. "I was going to tell you on Christmas."

“Oh shit!” Dean exclaimed, pushing Castiel back from him, making the blanket slip and fall onto Dean’s thighs. “You never told me what you wanted for Christmas!”

Castiel simply stared at him, unsure of what he could say. He really didn’t want anything, and it would only be stupid for Dean to waste money on him.

“And don’t give me that ‘I don’t need anything’ crap again. I’m getting you something regardless of whether you need it or not.”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Castiel admitted, shrugging.

“Dude, I asked you over a month ago. You’ve had ages to think about it.”

Castiel looked down at Dean’s chest for a moment, placing a hand over his solar plexus as he smiled to himself. ‘But you’ve already given me everything I could possibly want.”

The man looked at him like he was insane, and Castiel couldn’t help but laugh, pressing their mouths together briefly. “I’m serious. Do you know what it’s like to suddenly find out that someone cares about you – for the first time ever? And for it to be someone you yourself care about more than anything else? I never thought anyone would want me in this way, so to hear that _you_ did – you being the one person I would ever consider asking to be my partner in the first place ... honestly, you have no idea just how amazing it made me feel. It was the only thing I could ever want, aside from your happiness, and even then, I’m fairly sure such a relationship can help with that.”

Dean kept quiet, the blush almost permanently staining his skin. It was endearing, and Castiel didn’t know what else he could say. He understood that Dean was most likely embarrassed, but he didn’t know anything he could tell Dean to make the man any less so. He wanted to flatter Dean, yet words of kindness only seemed to make Dean more uncomfortable, so it was difficult to decide how he should continue.

Dean was stubborn – he always had been – so Castiel knew this would be something of a challenge to convince Dean of otherwise. He may have succeeded already, in terms of convincing him not to buy a gift, although it wasn’t something Dean would let go easily. It seemed even after Dean had been persuaded to do something, he still found a way to revert back to his initial intent.

Castiel didn’t want Dean to buy him something if it wasn’t necessary though. He would be happy with anything Dean gave him – regardless of what it was – but he wanted Dean to understand that his friendship and his love were all that Castiel _could_ want.

Dean had once said that it was more about want than it was need, so surely something such as this kind of affection could be classed as a want, even if it meant he was receiving his gift early. He didn’t mind – he simply wanted _Dean_ to be content when Christmas came around.

That was all that mattered in reality, regardless of whether Dean acknowledged it or not.

 

*****

They rushed across the road hurriedly, Dean tugging on Castiel’s hand in an attempt to make him move faster, and Castiel laughed, grabbing at the arm of Dean’s coat to keep himself upright. The ice on the tarmac made it difficult for him to keep his balance, and Dean seemed to be having the same problem, slipping a little before reaching the somewhat safer-to-walk-on paving. The snow wasn’t exactly a grip beneath their shoes, but it was still less dangerous to the thin ice ... until it became crushed flat, thus resulting in it turning into a smooth surface like that of the roads.

It was a little frustrating, but Dean held him steady in spite of his own inability to hold his poise, and they were almost relying upon each other to stay on their feet, in a way that Castiel initially thought would have increased their chances of falling over more than anything else.

“Bet if we hadn’t had anything to drink, this would’ve been so much easier,” Dean puffed, stepping cautiously onto the area of the sidewalk that had been cleared of the snow. Castiel wasn’t sure of whether it would be harder to walk on or not, so he stuck to the piled ice beside Dean, wondering if the paving would be as slippery as the surface of the roads were. Castiel’s shoes most certainly did not have as much grip as Dean’s boots; the soles were unblemished and flat, making it harder for him to control his stance, even with the man’s aid.

“We didn’t have that much,” Castiel murmured, smiling when Dean let go of his hand to wind it around his waist, pinning him to his side. They’d had two beers each, and with Dean’s tolerance, that shouldn’t have affected him at all, but he wasn’t going to tease Dean for blaming something else for his lack of stability. Dean could believe whatever he wanted.

They’d had to walk back in the snow for the past two or so weeks, but it hadn’t really been as bad as this before. The snow hadn’t been as heavy for one, and they hadn’t been rushing back like they were now.

Yes, it wasn’t the alcohol that was making things difficult – more so the fact that both of them wanted to get home as soon as possible.

Castiel didn’t even have to ask to know the reason why.

 

*

 

Dean pushed Castiel up against the bedroom door when it clicked shut, kissing the angel chastely until Cas parted his lips, almost in the form of an invitation, and Dean took the opportunity, licking his way into Cas’ mouth as he began to slide his own jacket off. Castiel seemed to catch on, ridding himself of his trench coat and hastily going on to remove his sweater, separating from Dean briefly to tug the clothing over his head.

Their mouths became slotted together in a frenzy after both of them were free of their upper body clothing; breath pumping hot and frantic against Dean’s lips whenever they broke a little apart, only to carry on where they left off, hands scoring over bare skin as their bodies pressed closer together.

He dragged his lips over Castiel right cheek, trailing kisses up to his ear where he latched onto the lobe with his teeth, drawing it further into his mouth as he enclosed his lips around the warm skin, and Cas fucking _whimpered_. Dean honestly never thought he’d hear actually Cas whimper – he’d imagined how it would sound, sure, but that was before the angel had gotten his little confidence boost; back when he was naive and shy, and oblivious to the intimacy they shared.

Dean teased his hips forward, grinding slowly against the bulge in Castiel’s jeans as he moved his mouth to the shell of Cas’ ear. “You still want me to show you what a blowjob is?”

And Cas whimpered _again_ , his body trembling with nervous energy or excitement, or whatever it was that was reverting him back to the timid and uncertain version of himself. Dean turned his head to meet his gaze; the angel’s eyes pleading – almost desperate when he rocked forward once more – with that oh-so-subtle smirk on his lips that had Dean grinning like a fucking idiot.

“What do I have to do?” Castiel asked softly, and it sort of clicked as to why Cas was suddenly kind of submissive.

 _Cas didn’t **know** what to do_.

Sure, Dean had been with virgins before, but they’d _known_ the terms and what they involved – and Cas didn’t. Like, he might’ve accidentally seen Dean having sex in the past, but that didn’t necessarily mean he knew the ins and outs of it all. That much was obvious.

It was kind of adorable, in a way that probably shouldn’t be considered as such ...

“You don’t have to do anything,” Dean assured him, sliding a hand between their torsos to start unbuckling Castiel’s belt. He moved his mouth down to the angel’s jaw, kissing a trail further down Cas’ neck, all whilst he unhooked the metal clasp, yanking the strip of leather from the belt loops completely.

Castiel’s panting was loud in Dean’s ears – a sound he’d been dying to hear for weeks – in spite of them not having done much at all. Admittedly, the room was rather humid, but it was exciting to know he’d riled Cas up by doing, or saying, something so simple.

But the angel had relaxed against the door now, raking his fingers lethargically through Dean’s hair as Dean lowered himself even more, littering Castiel’s chest with quick presses of his lips until he was kneeling, unzipping Castiel’s fly and popping open the button on his jeans.

From what he understood, Cas’ eyes were closed, his dark lashes resting heavily on his cheeks as he tilted his head back even more, exposing his throat. Dean kinda wished he’d stayed standing for that part, if only to suck a bruise onto that beautifully pale skin, marking him as his own.

His angel.

His partner.

Simply _his_.

He tugged on the denim lightly, coaxing it down Castiel’s thighs and exposing even more skin – untainted skin that could totally change within the next five minutes. He touched at it lightly, running his fingertips over the inner part of Castiel’s left thigh decorated with the finer hairs, eliciting a brief choked off noise from the angel that most definitely made up his mind for him.

Dean didn’t even try to be gentle, scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh until Cas was pretty much writhing, pulling at Dean’s hair in a way that was almost restrained so not to hurt him, but _fuck_ : when he bit down, he had to pin Castiel’s hips to the door to stop them from rutting forward, sucking on the skin harshly as he listened to Castiel’s erratic breathing.

It was bliss!

And thanks to Castiel’s utterly stunning glow, he could see the darkened patch on Cas’ thigh when he drew away, kissing it tenderly before turning his attention to his initial objective and running a finger over the firm length tenting the material of Castiel’s boxers, his other hand still keeping Cas held firmly in place. He planned to take as long as he wanted, just to see how much more desperate the angel could get.

So he began to mouth at Cas’ cock through the fabric, purposefully avoiding the tip that peeked out through the opening, no matter how tempted he was to wipe away the beads of precome with his tongue. They glistened in the light Castiel gave off, staining the cotton of his underwear when they dripped against it, making Dean that little bit more aware of just how aroused Cas actually was.

He toyed with the waistband of the loose shorts, looping his forefingers behind it so he could draw them down slowly, exposing the dark patch of hairs that linked to the trail on his stomach. He kept going, smiling to himself when Castiel’s erection bobbed free, and he allowed the boxers to fall down the rest of Castiel’s legs of their own accord, joining the bunched up denim that resided around Cas’ calves.

Cas’ breathing had become surprisingly louder, although there were no more of those interesting little noises bouncing off the walls. Dean was both grateful and disappointed, wanting Cas to cry out, but at the same time, it would be unfair on Sam if he could, by any chance, hear what was going on.  The kid had heard, and unfortunately, walked in on a few of Dean’s sexual encounters in the past, but that was Dean’s fault for occasionally bringing his partners back in the middle of the day. This was definitely something they could prevent Sam from ever being aware of.

Well, obviously Sam would _know_ , but Dean didn’t really want to think about that now. Not with Castiel all patient and beautiful, glowing the palest pink in colour as he waited for Dean to continue.

Dean didn’t waste any time licking a stripe along Castiel’s shaft, gently probing at the head of his dick with his tongue, and the angel’s breath hitched, his hips attempting to thrust forward again despite Dean’s hold. Dean decidedly moved lower, laving his tongue over the velvety skin of Cas’ balls instead, before bringing a hand down to stroke them, rolling them in his palm and squeezing them tentatively.

Right now, it was more a case of finding out what Cas liked – and it was always best to try out the stuff that was guaranteed to feel good, rather than the stuff that was simply down to personal preference and kinks. They could try all that later.

Fuck, they had what felt like _forever_ to do so much more. Dean had never been so excited about a relationship before – especially one where his partner was virtually clueless about everything they were gonna do.

He leant back a little, watching precome slide down Castiel’s length, collecting at the slight bend where the droplets prepared to fall to the floor. He didn’t even need to think about it, darting back to lap at the salty beads, tracing them back to the leaking tip of Castiel’s cock, neglected and even darker than before.

He kissed it before anything else, relishing the way the fluid clung to his lips whilst the angel let out a whine, and Dean smoothed both palms over Cas’ thighs, parting Castiel’s legs a little as he readied himself. He didn’t care if it meant Cas would probably end up fucking into his mouth – he knew Cas was trying not to. His muscles were fucking trembling from the strain, and besides: it wasn’t as if Dean couldn’t take it. He didn’t have much of a gag-reflex as it was, so he was totally okay with the idea of deep-throating the guy.

He took the head between his lips, swiping his tongue over the slit as he sucked on it nimbly, and he swore he could hear Cas let out some sort of sigh of relief. Dean almost burst into laughter at how relaxed Cas suddenly was, because he sure as hell wouldn’t stay like that for long. He imagined it wouldn’t take much, given that Cas wouldn’t be used to this kind of thing, and from Dean’s experience, virgins definitely came earlier than most.

“Dean ... can you ...” Castiel breathed, scraping his fingers through Dean’s hair again and prompting him forward by gently applying pressure to the gesture.

And that was all the encouragement Dean needed, swallowing Cas whole and carefully dragging his teeth over the prominent vein on his way back up to the tip. The mere act had Castiel gasping, his hips twitching forward abruptly as Dean sunk back down, his lips reaching the base of Castiel’s length without a problem.

That wasn’t implying Cas had a small dick or anything, because honestly, screw the angel part. Cas had the body of a fucking _God!_ He was absolutely fucking perfect!

And the sounds Cas had started to make were worthy of a fucking porno; Dean’s name panted out drunkenly on a consecutive basis between the heavy exhalations, and it had his own cock throbbing in his pants. It was like something out of a wet dream – a totally perfect and incredibly surreal wet dream, because he hadn’t expected Cas to sound anywhere _near_ as hot as this!

And he’d thought about it _a lot_ ; right down to the little sighs in the build up.

Dean set a steady rhythm, Castiel’s hips canting forward whenever he paused to suck on the head, and he could honestly say that he had never enjoyed giving someone a blowjob as much as he did with Cas. He would totally do this as frequently as the angel wanted if it meant Cas would make the same erotic noises each time.

“D-Dean ... it feels –” Castiel started, crying out before he got the chance to finish. His fingers gripped the short stands of Dean’s hair tightly and his hips snapped forward as he filled Dean’s mouth with that bitter, searing fluid; and Dean took it all, swallowing every last pulse and savouring the heat as it ran down his throat.

He slid back to the head of Castiel’s length, sucking on the tip until he could feel Cas go soft against his tongue, and he drew back carefully, resting his forehead against Cas’ left hip bone for a few seconds whilst he caught his breath. He fingered the bruise-like stain he’d left on Castiel’s thigh, making Cas shiver a little, before he rose to his feet, smoothing a palm over the angel’s fluctuating stomach as he pushed their foreheads together. Castiel’s was slightly sticky with sweat, but it was still so fucking satisfying. Oddly so.

“Good?” Dean asked, grinning when Cas reopened his eyes, all dark and captivating, pupils blown wide ...

He looked stunning, to say the least; his eyelashes fluttering prettily as he came down from his high, seemingly refocusing on his surroundings. It was almost like he was in a daze, and it provided Dean with a sense of thrill, having never really seen the guy wear such a sated expression before.

He stumbled back a little when Castiel crashed their mouths together – apparently unfazed by the bitter flavour of Dean’s mouth – and he almost groaned when the cold hand slipped behind the waistband of his jeans, cool fingers effortlessly working their way into his boxers to stroke his length, touching at his erection carefully.

Dean was so fucking grateful he’d taken his boots off downstairs because it definitely made stripping free of the denim a whole lot easier, even if he still had Cas stroking him in his underwear. The angel was stepping out of his own clothing, still bunched up around his ankles, pressing his naked body up against him as they moved blindly over to the bed, falling back in a heap on the mattress whilst Castiel took him fully in his hand.

It wasn’t the best hand job he’d ever received, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. He was actually surprised by Castiel’s actions, deeming them as kinda forward given the fact that the angel was new to it. Dean knew the angel was confident and all, but he hadn’t expected Cas to have been willing to do this straight away.

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned when the angel twisted his wrist a little, continuing to pump his fist up and down as he kissed along Dean’s jaw: lengthy and firm presses of lips to his skin, that had Dean pushing back, urging Cas to kiss him harder – to feel the occasional scrape of teeth along the bone.

The angel began to pant against Dean’s flesh, his breath scratchy and loud. “Am I doing it right? I’m not hurting you?”

Dean felt the grin blossom on his face, the breathy laughter forcing itself from his lips. “Feels so fucking good, babe. Fucking perfect.”

Castiel made his movements faster, his grip firmer, and Dean couldn’t help but cant up into the touch when the angel thumbed his slit, pressing down like it _wasn’t_ the most sensitive part of Dean’s cock.

It felt amazing though, and he could feel the heat come crashing down over all his senses, firing through his veins and filling his body with that familiar uncontrollable power that tipped him right over the edge. He stifled a cry as he came; the angel sounding out one of his rare fucking giggles as he began to shower Dean’s face in kisses again, still pulling on Dean’s length as he worked him through his orgasm.

“You ...” Dean started, the dotted white clouding his vision as he tried to look at Cas through the darkness, the angel smoothing a sticky palm over Dean’s stomach, smearing the ejaculate over his skin.

He didn’t care – he didn’t even _try_ to care.

He’d just been jerked off by a fucking angel!

“Was that okay?” Castiel asked quietly, though Dean could detect the amusement in his voice; the slight pride because he _knew_ he’d done better than fucking okay. It mightn’t have been the best, but for a first try it was pretty fucking impressive.

Dean kicked off his underwear, sitting up as best he could in his worn out state as he reached behind Cas’ neck, drawing him closer to kiss him hard.

Castiel was, quite simply, amazing.

 

*

 

“I’m sorry if you feel like I rushed us into this,” Dean whispered, pushing the hair away from Castiel’s forehead in the darkness.

Castiel blinked up at him, his eyes wide and curious, before he was shuffling closer, nuzzling his way beneath Dean’s chin, his naked body pressed flush with Dean’s beneath the bed sheets.

It felt surprisingly normal, despite hardly ever actually sharing a bed with Cas in the past, but it was a nice feeling, and although they were both trembling – the cold finally affecting them – Dean couldn’t imagine a better way of falling asleep.

“Don’t apologise, Dean. We haven’t rushed into anything,” the angel murmured quietly in response, an arm snaking around Dean’s waist, cool fingers splaying out over the small of his back.

Dean smiled to himself, rubbing his cheek against the top of the angel’s head. “So you’re definitely okay with everything so far? I don’t want to end up making you feel uncomfortable or anything.”

The angel laughed softly, his breath tickling Dean’s neck. “And you say _I_ worry too much.”

“But I don’t wanna fuck things up, you know?” He tried, touching at the angel’s bicep with his fingers lightly. “I want everything to be perfect for you.”

Castiel hummed, and Dean could feel the brush of eyelashes against his skin. The room grew a little quiet, Castiel’s fingers stroking along the base of Dean’s spine, and he felt so fucking great – simply content in the way that he could map out the planes of Castiel’s body without the angel minding in the slightest, and then there was the way they could be so close and Castiel didn’t find it weird or strange to suddenly be sharing this new kind of intimacy with him.

“I want it to be perfect for you too, Dean,” Castiel piped up again. “And I know that your relationships in the past haven’t been that successful, but I think ... I _hope_ this one will be different, what with the colour of your soul and all.”

“You mean cos’ I’m happier now?” Dean grinned, feeling the angel rub against him a little, all soft bodied and warm. “Dude I know for a _fact_ this relationship is gonna be different, seeing as you’re the one who made me this fucking happy in the first place.”

Castiel twitched a little, the strokes of his fingers turning into momentary tapping. “Well, it’s going to be a little different because I’ve never seen your soul like this before, but I don’t know how that’ll affect us in the long run, mainly because I’m not sure if these kind of feelings subside over time or not.”

Dean swallowed thickly, understanding completely what the angel was saying – and it was true: either one of them could lose interest as some point or another, but Dean had honestly never felt this way about anyone ever before and if that didn’t give him hope on his part, then he didn’t know what would.

As for Cas, it could simply be the bond. But then, Cas had said that Dean would’ve been the only person he’d ever wanted to bond with and that was definitely reassuring, but Cas was, effectively, a human now. Feelings change – people change – and even though Cas might lose interest in Dean, he might also change his mind about not wanting another partner.

But Dean didn’t really want to think about that now, because if anything, it was something they could discuss in the future – if it ever came to that.

“Hey,” Dean started, nudging Cas a little. “You gonna ask Gabriel what the pink means? Because I can see it in your Grace, so ... I don’t know.”

The angel laughed again. “You want to know what the pink represents?”

“Well, yeah. I would’ve thought you’d want to know too,” he pressed, forcing a smile onto his face, even though Cas wouldn’t see it.

“What if I told you I already know?” Castiel teased, and Dean could feel his stomach knot, because Cas had fucking known all along, hadn’t he?

He wound an arm around Castiel’s waist, rolling them over so that Cas lay on top of him, their legs tangling in the sheets as Castiel moved to get comfortable. “Would you care to tell me what it means, and why you kept it a secret?”

Castiel’s fingers scored over Dean’s ribs, the occasional bite of nails as he dragged over the skin. “I’ll think about it.”

“No, c’mon. It’s clearly not a bad thing,” he pointed out. It was a little difficult to talk with the angel weighing down on his stomach, but it wasn’t that uncomfortable – just a bit more awkward in terms of breathing.

Castiel raised his head, giving Dean an odd stare before leaning forward to kiss him, gently biting at Dean’s lower lip and rocking his hips forward. Neither of them were hard, but the touch of Castiel’s cock against his own made him wish they were; a want to slide their bodies together to get them both off at the same time. A want to hear his angel panting again; to have his fingers digging into Dean’s arms and the hot breath on his skin.

A want to teach the angel everything.

Castiel’s movements slowed, coming to a stop altogether as their mouths were drawn apart. “I don’t really know how to say it in a way that isn’t embarrassing,” Castiel shrugged, wriggling back down onto the mattress to regain his initial position, only this time his head rested on Dean’s shoulder, his hair soft and light against Dean’s bare skin. “Especially since knowing you, you wouldn’t openly admit to it.”

“What is it with you and this whole mystery vibe?” Dean groaned, closing his eyes. “Do you think I’m gonna freak out or something?”

The angel apparently ignored the question, his fingers inching toward Dean’s soul subtly.

“It means ‘love’,” Cas confessed, his voice gentle and reserved, and Dean could hear the blood pound in his ears with excitement – with the knowledge that maybe their relationship really _would_ be okay in the long run.

Sure, sometimes love didn’t always last forever – but Dean was _bonded_ to Cas. Their relationship had been significantly different from the get-go, and so what if it was the bond making him feel this way? Wouldn’t that mean that his feelings would last longer – if not forever?

He turned toward Castiel’s body again, lowering himself on the mattress and opening his eyes so they were face-to-face. He could see Castiel’s glow – the pink glow – and it had him smiling wider, his chest bursting with the thrill of the situation.

“Well then, Castiel,” he chuckled, reaching out a palm to lay it on the angel’s cheek. “Allow me to compose a list of each and every reason for why I am completely, and utterly, in love with you.”

Cas broke out in a grin, his skin becoming considerably warmer beneath Dean’s hand as their eyes locked, Castiel’s fingers scratching at the skin over Dean’s solar plexus affectionately.

“First of all, you are the kindest, most generous person I have ever met. You’re sweet, and funny, and by far the most compassionate boyfriend I’ve ever had.” He paused for a moment. “Is it okay if I call you that – or do you prefer partners, because I don’t want to ma –“

“Dean, it’s okay. I don’t mind what you want to call us,” Castiel interrupted, closing his eyes and keeping that huge smile fixed on his features.

“Alright,” Dean proclaimed cheerily, rubbing his thumb beneath Castiel’s eye and lowering his voice. “Then I’ll continue ...”

 

*

 

Castiel decided that mornings were his favourite part of the day; slow movements, the hot burn of skin-on-skin friction as their erections rubbed together, Dean gripping them both tightly as Castiel rocked forward, rolling his hips and grinding the man into the mattress.

Castiel couldn’t get enough of it – the touches, the way his body felt pressed against his partner’s, and then there was the overpowering sensation that filled his form with blistering energy and an incredible heat. It made his muscles ache and his body surprisingly weak for a brief period of time, but it was glorious, and every slight sensation he owed to Dean.

He shivered a little, his arms growing frail as he tried to hold himself up above Dean’s chest. Both of their stomachs were sticky with come and sweat, but as usual, it was worth it. It would always be worth it if Dean wore that same blissful expression on his face, if his skin was continually flushed and glittering with perspiration in the morning sunshine.

It was the quiet cries they shared that motivated Castiel most of all: name exchanges amongst their heavy breathing made the activity all that more remarkable.

He understood now why sex was considered a distraction in Heaven; why couples were only allowed to consummate just the once.

What he didn’t understand was how the other angels managed to abide by such a rule. He and Dean had spent all day prior in bed together, touching one another and exploring their bodies – simply to make each other feel good. It was something that Castiel could quite happily occupy himself with for several hours a day, listening to the rumble at the back of Dean’s throat when he did something right – when he found something else that Dean liked.

It was so many different kinds of amusing, making Castiel excited when he could pry all his favourite sounds from between Dean’s lips whilst consecutively discovering more.

And then there was the way Dean touched him: rough palms and gentle fingers, stirring up a magma-like sensation in the pit of his stomach when they rubbed the inner-sides of his thighs, smoothing higher whilst his mouth pressed wet and sharp kisses to the skin. They hurt in a good way – a way that created a longing for the scrape of teeth or the scratch of nails, and then there was simply their location, and how very close they were to his cock.

He liked the way Dean touched his length more than the harsh contact on the rest of his flesh – even more so when it was Dean’s mouth rather than his hands. It produced a more fulfilling sensation, no matter how much Castiel enjoyed the rougher contact. The caress of lips and often tongue against his erection was consuming and hot, his skin enveloped in the softness of Dean’s mouth with the gentlest of movement to stimulate his orgasm.

Dean had promised him another blowjob later.

He dropped down beside Dean on the mattress, careful of how he landed so not to make their positioning uncomfortable, whilst they both attempted to catch their breath. Dean rolled into him, throwing an arm over his chest affectionately in spite of how utterly disgusting Castiel’s skin felt with the residue of their previous activity clinging to the surface. It still confused him as to how Dean wasn’t repulsed by it.

“You wanna shower together this morning?” Dean asked, his voice more like a breath as it drifted over the sound of Castiel’s heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

“Mmmnn,” he hummed in response, not entirely sure of whether his answer was a firm ‘yes’ or ‘no' as he raised his hand to card his fingers through Dean’s hair pathetically. The strands felt clammy beneath his touch, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t even off-putting; the knowledge that he had been the cause for such exertion in the first place overrode the slight discomfort for the way it felt, and it dawned on him that maybe that was why Dean didn’t mind.

If Castiel felt somewhat proud of himself, then perhaps Dean was experiencing the same notion.

He ran his fingertips over Dean’s bicep, smoothing over the firm muscle as he worked his way up to the man’s shoulder, laying his hand flat. Dean’s skin was smooth and soft, the odd freckle decorating the tan flesh, and if Castiel had the time, he would count every last pigmentation on Dean's form, even if it would hold no purpose. He just wanted an excuse to examine Dean a little closer – in a way that wasn’t permitted before. He imagined there was a lot Dean would let him do now.

He groaned when the man shifted away to sit up, missing the burning warmth and his musky scent, until Dean was taking his hand, encouraging him to leave the bed; the heated mattress, and their comfy sheets, and the strong aroma their bodies had left in their wake.

“C’mon,” Dean grinned, coaxing Castiel along by pressing quick kisses to his mouth, darting away before they could turn it into something more passionate.

“Can’t we stay in bed for a little longer?” Castiel moaned, clutching at the man’s hair to bring their mouths back together, licking along the seam of Dean’s lips until they parted for him. His partner was still shifting backwards, and Castiel had no other choice but to follow, reluctant to let him go just yet.

It felt like hours since they last kissed, yet Castiel’s lips were still sore from their last encounter. It didn’t make him any less inclined to continue, not really acknowledging the ache until their tongues slid against one another, lips breaking apart and mashing back together as Dean tilted his head to the side for a better position.

Castiel could already feel himself starting to grow hard again, kneeling on the bedspread as Dean continued to kiss him, both hands cupping his jaw as if to entice him off of the bed completely, stepping back yet again. It was almost like the man was bribing him: teasing him with this promise of a deeper kiss if he decidedly moved from the mattress anytime soon, and it was rather difficult in terms of deciding what to do. There was the part of him that wanted to stay in bed with Dean for another hour or so, where comfort and warmth was ensured – especially if he felt more than ready for ‘another round’, as Dean had put it yesterday – but then there was the shower; a place he had yet to be intimate with Dean, where it was just as easy to get warm, and possibly even easier to slide against one another.

He moved forward cautiously, letting himself go slack in Dean’s hold as he attempted to shift off of the bed. The man made some kind of satisfied noise – a mixture of both a purr and a laugh – that had Castiel smiling, letting Dean guide him to the centre of the room.

Well, he let Dean guide him directly to the bathroom, separating for a few moments and simply walking down the hall holding hands. Castiel didn’t even care if they were wandering around with no clothing on, able to admire Dean’s body and the way his muscles rippled beneath his flesh as he did so. It was oddly distracting, and Castiel found himself captivated, watching Dean’s thighs tense and relax as the man led the way.

There were tiny red lines from where the fabric of the sheets had pressed into his skin, decorating not only his legs, but his rear and his back, leaving obscure patterns indented in the flesh.

Castiel resisted the impulse to trace his finger over them, like finding his way out of a maze; a need to touch rising to the front of his precedence’s. He glanced away, staring down at his own feet as they padded down the corridor and into the open bathroom.

He almost gasped at the temperature of the room, immediately greeted with a wave of cold air, rolling in through the open window, and Castiel could feel his hair stand on end, tensing all his muscles abruptly in order to prevent himself from shivering. It only seemed to make his reaction worse: his teeth chattering irritatingly as Dean stepped away to turn on the shower, seemingly unfazed by the cool breeze surrounding them.

It only took a few minutes for the shower to be turned on and heated up, and Castiel practically shoved Dean into the sectioned off area, desperate to get beneath the spray for warmth. Dean laughed, turning around and sliding his arms beneath Castiel’s to rest his hands on Cas’ back, grinning widely when their noses bumped and their lips crushed together for a brief moment.

The cubical was surprisingly spacious, but that didn’t stop Castiel from backing the man up against a tiled wall, feeling the hardness against his thigh as he pressed closer. He could feel the emotions from Dean’s soul travelling directly into his own chest as he laved at the man’s clavicle, working his mouth over Dean’s throat and settling on the skin above Dean’s Adam’s apple. It jumped whenever the man swallowed, but Castiel was still able to latch onto the flesh with his teeth, making Dean hiss as one of those pretty bruises were sucked onto his surface.

He rubbed his erection up against Dean’s own, the slight slip-slide of the water aiding the movement as Castiel continued to mouth over the flesh of Dean’s neck, finding another spot to decorate with a similar marking; another spot to decorate with his ownership.

It wasn’t like the form of claim in Heaven. Not entirely anyway, what with the Grace displaying where the ownership truly lay. The matter of angelic bonding was an odd one to explain, as each manifestation of intertwined Grace was different, yet all of them possess some essence of their partner.

Castiel didn’t care if he and Dean wouldn't share some visible beauty to determine their bond, knowing full well that no human would be able to see it even if they did share something of the sort.

Instead, Castiel could make the painless marks on Dean’s body, alerting other human’s to the fact that Dean was _his:_ that Dean was taken. Of course, it would fade with time, just like any other bruising of the body, but Castiel could easily replace it with another. He would enjoy replacing it with another.

Their lengths seemed to have aligned and their bodies slotted together comfortably – almost perfectly in the way it was so secure and easy to rest against Dean; no sharp juts of bones or limbs between them to prevent the pleasurable outcome.

Castiel groaned, resting his cheek on Dean’s left shoulder as he persisted to grind against Dean’s crotch, both of their hands twining together as the hot energy seeped through from Dean’s chest, filling Castiel’s veins with that white heat far sooner than it usually would.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Dean whispered, pushing his hips away from the wall to add to the pressure. “Th-that’s great, Cas. Keep doing that.”

Castiel nosed at Dean’s shoulder, canting forward abruptly to feed Dean’s needs just as much as his own, the weight of their abdomens against Castiel’s penis making him whine, and he picked up the pace, rubbing them together hurriedly.

“Dean ...” Castiel grunted, frequent bouts of elation heightening his senses as Dean’s soul gave off the recurrent shocks of utter delight. His mind felt like it was being submerged beneath the sensation, letting his body do all the work for him as he fed drunkenly from the experience.

It didn’t take long at all before the wave of ecstasy touched at every part of his form, and he found himself gasping against Dean’s skin, squeezing the man’s hands tightly as each pulse jerked free from his body. He continued to move against Dean’s erection in spite of his own sensitive length being trapped between their stomachs, desperate to make Dean feel just as good as quickly as possible.

He could sense the build up through the sentiments of Dean’s soul, slight throbs of pleasure that had him panting harder, his head swimming with a new kind of bliss, and then there was that ultimate jolt of satisfaction as Dean finally came, making Cas cry out at the exact same time Dean did.

His length was aching – and not the good kind of ache from arousal. It was sore from being overworked and he felt exhausted, and although yesterday had been somewhat strenuous, this was something new altogether. He didn’t want to do anything at all, letting himself lay limp against Dean’s chest as the water continued to pelt against them.

They stayed that way for minutes, before Dean supported him, aiding him over to the middle of the shower cubicle and turning him around so that his back was pressed to Dean’s chest. Castiel let himself relax fully under the spray of water – even more so when Dean began to clean his stomach for him, hands smooth with the soap as they rinsed his skin clean, leaving it softer and smelling nicer than before.

Dean was gentle with everything he did; after cleansing them both, he went on to wash Castiel’s hair for him. It was incredibly soothing: the way in which Dean’s fingertips rubbed circles against his scalp, raking them tenderly through the lathered hair to rid it of its tangles. It never felt like this when he did it himself – it was always rushed and irritating; the actual task of washing his hair seeming like a chore the more frequently he went about it – much like shaving. Shaving wasn’t as entertaining anymore either.

“You okay now, Cas?” Dean asked as he began to rinse out the suds, quickly warning Castiel to close his eyes.

Castiel smiled, but he kept his mouth closed as the shampoo ran over his face beneath the water, waiting until Dean’s hands were gone from his hair before opening his eyes again, turning around to face the man. Dean looked almost shy, his eyes never quite meeting Castiel’s, and it was rather endearing to observe, a want to pull the man close and kiss his face until he felt more confident rushing to the forefront of Castiel’s thoughts.

He reached out a hand to curl it around the back of Dean’s neck, bringing him closer to kiss his mouth chastely, keeping his lips supple as they pressed against his partner’s gratefully.

“I’m okay,” he assured Dean quietly, rising up on the balls of his feet to push their foreheads together.

Time passed incredibly slowly after that; the drying off in the bathroom, the bundling themselves in multiple layers of clothing, but then there was laying on the couch, Castiel resting his head on Dean’s thigh like he’d done so many times in the past whilst Dean stroked a hand through his hair. There were several blankets littering the settee – one on Dean’s lap, another around his shoulders, and then Castiel had the comforter from their bedroom, the sheets having been freshly changed, and now it smelt pleasant and clean.

“You did tell Gabriel about the whole wing incident, didn’t you?”

Castiel rolled onto his back, closing his eyes as he tugged at the hem of the comforter. “Yes. I’m sure he’ll address it on his next visit.”

Castiel hoped as much anyway. He didn’t want it to happen again anytime soon – especially when Sam would be home from school starting next Monday. He couldn’t afford to have Sam see his wings – not without making issues more problematic than they already were.

He needed to discuss that, and obviously the bond shared between himself and Dean.

But he didn’t need to worry about that right this instant – it would only be a real concern if Dean experienced some kind of pain or trauma because of the link. _That’s_ when he would require the knowledge, if such a thing should actually happen.

“You think he can fix it?” Dean queried, moving his hand to adjust the blanket around Castiel’s neck, tucking it in to prevent the cold from touching at his skin.

Castiel let his eyelids flutter shut, relaxed as Dean traced along his jaw with a finger. He didn’t doubt Gabriel’s power, but this could simply be a reaction to his semi-mortality. Much like the headaches, it could be something that could be prevented, yet not treated altogether, and that was rather unsettling.

But Castiel knew it would be helpful. The headaches had stopped, and although Castiel would _need_ to free his wings every month or so, Gabriel could make it so that Castiel was in control of when they became unsheathed or not.

“I do.”

 

*

 

Gabriel couldn’t fix it.

Not permanently, anyway. The method required would be much more complicated than that used to compress the headaches, and it wasn’t as long-term. It was something that would have to be monitored frequently, because according to the archangel, it was a far more serious matter – one that could quite possibly kill Castiel if it wasn’t taken care of on a regular basis.

That comment alone had clearly upset Dean, who continued to shout at Gabriel for several minutes afterwards, questioning all sorts of possibilities and their outcomes.

One of which addressed the thought of whether someone was manipulating Castiel to create such problems in the first place.

Gabriel told him he was being ridiculous – that no one would be able to do something of the sort without being detected.

Apparently, the archangel had been watching over them both – not so much as observing their activities (which Castiel had dreaded to think about) but more so as holding some sort of protection over the home, much like Castiel had done when he had monitored Dean alone.

It was reassuring, and it made Castiel feel a little more relaxed about the situation. He had been a little anxious as to whether someone could have actually moved the blade without him knowing, but maybe it truly had been down to his pure idiocy. Maybe it _had_ been there and he’d merely knocked it out of the way whilst he searched for it.

Thinking about it now, he had been somewhat careless with his actions, so such a mistake could have been made. He probably owed Dean an apology, in actual fact, for accusing him of mendacity.

“So what is it then?” Dean asked, his tone a little more aggressive than needs be – especially considering the fact that he was talking to a very powerful angel. Gabriel may have been the most laid back out of the three archangels Castiel had met, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be as stern or intimidating. “I think we’ve established that this hasn’t ever happened to anyone before, so there’s got to be _something_ going on, right?”

“I told you already – I’m looking into it!”

“That’s not –“

“Dean,” Castiel chided, laying a hand on his arm. The man glanced across at him sympathetically, his skin flushed from his irritation, before his gaze was turned to the floor, most likely out of embarrassment. Castiel knew it was because of his own fault that Dean was upset, and it had a heavy weight settling in his stomach as he nudged Dean gently, attempting to hold his attention again. “Would it be alright if I speak to Gabriel alone for a moment?”

Dean nodded, meeting his eye and attempting a smile as he rose from the bed. Castiel watched him leave, acknowledging the slight padding noise as the man presumably made his way down the staircase to the ground floor.

Castiel rubbed a hand over his jaw, resting his chin in his other palm. This whole situation was an annoyance, but it needed to be dealt with. The sooner they handled the problem, the sooner they could get things back to how they were.

“Are you certain Raphael has left me be?” Castiel asked quietly, slumping in his seat as he tried to come up with some other credible reason. He knew that the archangel had not liked Dean – Raphael hadn’t liked the way Castiel had treated his charge, and how he was apparently ‘too caring’.

Such reasons were ridiculous, but there was so much more – so much he didn’t want to think about.

“He promised he wouldn’t harm you, Castiel. He said you weren’t worth the time.”

Castiel ducked his head lower, closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of the kettle boiling downstairs.

He had never been worth Raphael’s time – he’d been told that over and over with each visit, almost like the archangel had been mocking him, exaggerating Castiel’s insignificance and empty life. No matter how much he could have tried, Raphael would have never liked him; continually encouraging the others to disparage Castiel’s appearance and his ‘weakness’ when it came to those in his care.

Well, more like his weakness when it came to Dean.

Dean with his similar issues and false front, smiling to keep his family cheerful and content as the years progressed, always wanting them to feel at ease when he himself was not. Dean who ploughed through his hardships to keep his little brother happy – to keep the one person who could really appreciate his worth happy – working ridiculous hours to keep them both alive.

Dean would always be Castiel’s weakness.

“You still haven’t told him yet, have you?” Gabriel queried, although it sounded more like a statement than anything else, cutting through Castiel’s thoughts and making him squirm.

“I’m not ready,” he stated pitifully. In all honesty, he didn’t know when he _would_ be ready. There was so much to tell Dean – too much to go over in the finest of detail – and it was painful: each and every element as distressing as the next.

No: he was most certainly not ready to talk just yet, no matter how much Dean trusted him.

There was a hiatus in their conversation as Gabriel began to move about the room. Castiel guessed it as pacing, judging by the noises that continually sounded back and forth in front of him.

“Don’t you think you should?” The archangel pressed, and Castiel could feel his cheeks burn. Not with embarrassment or discomfort, but with frustration. Gabriel made it sound so easy!

And yes, maybe Dean had talked about himself at length – he’d made it seem easy at the time, too, but Castiel wouldn’t be able to talk. He’d have to _show_ Dean everything; otherwise he would be spending days – possibly weeks explaining it all when it could be sent through the thought transaction in a single bout.

That still wasn’t easy.

“I mean, you’re partners now. I would have thought you’d consider it to be an important factor in your relationship.”

Castiel bit his lower lip. Gabriel was making him feel guilty, and it _hurt_. It _was_ an important factor in his and Dean’s relationship – or rather, it would be – but he didn’t want to ruin what they had. Things were fine – his health abnormalities aside – and his history would only make more problems arise; Dean would ask questions, and their partnership would be strained, and maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t feel prepared enough to combat the subject just yet.

Soon. Maybe.

When he had thought about it a little more.

When they were both free from worry.


	13. Fear Is The Heart Of Love

Love of mine, some day you will die  
But I’ll be close behind  
I’ll follow you into the dark  
No blinding light, or tunnels to gates of white   
Just our hands clasped so tight  
Waiting for the hint of a spark  
If heaven and hell decide  
That they are both satisfied  
Illuminate the _no_ ’s on their vacancy signs  
If there’s no one beside you  
When your soul embarks   
Then I’ll follow you into the dark

_Death Cab For Cutie_

 

 

Castiel kissed Dean carefully, bending down and touching at his jaw for the few seconds that it lasted. No matter how brief it was, Castiel still savoured every moment, wishing that he and Dean could keep the same relaxed atmosphere for as long as possible, without the worry of any other dealings separating them.

“I’m going to be fine,” he whispered, sitting beside the man on the couch as he took hold of Dean’s hand. “Gabriel’s going to fix it.”

Dean nodded silently, leaning against his side and closing his eyes, an almost pained expression on his face. It hurt to see Dean so upset considering recent events, but he was going to do his best to convince them both, regardless of the further information that Gabriel had given him, that things would indeed be alright.

But saying as such was far more difficult when he still didn’t believe it himself – especially since Dean could now see the emotions given off in his Grace. There was the slight chance that Dean had forgotten what the colours meant, but it was highly unlikely, and Castiel didn’t really know how to conceal an upset that was out of his control. It wasn’t like a facial expression – it couldn’t simply turn into a smile or something neutral; Castiel would have to completely forget about his earlier conversation with Gabriel if he hoped to be as calm and compelling as he was prior, and that was even harder, because it was _all_ he could think about.

And identifying the blue in Dean’s soul wasn’t helping matters either, because that only provoked his thoughts, encouraging him to imagine what it was Dean was thinking about in return. He knew how distressed Dean had looked when Gabriel had mentioned the possibility of death, and it was completely understandable because Castiel would find himself in the same position if the issue had resided with Dean instead, but they both needed to remember that it would only become likely should Gabriel cease healing him altogether, and as frustrating as it was to be healed on a more frequent basis, he’d prefer that over having to become estranged.

He didn’t even know would happen to him once he passed on – he hadn’t anticipated dying before the end of Dean’s time, so whether or not he would resume his position as a guardian in Heaven was something he needed to think about. He didn’t even know if he’d be able to watch over Dean again, not since Raphael had forbidden his involvement with the man in the first place, but he didn’t want to watch over anyone else. He didn’t ever want to watch over anyone other than Dean.

He was certain that if Raphael found out as such – that is, if he didn’t already _assume_ – then he would assign Castiel a new charge immediately, thus severing Castiel’s bond with Dean, regardless of the romantic implications they now shared. Obviously the Gracial bond would remain intact, but what was the use if they couldn’t be together to enjoy it? And that wasn’t even the worst thing that could happen upon his return. He knew that they were safe in a sense now that the bond was connecting them on a more powerful level, but would that really stop Raphael from wiping the memory of everyone Castiel had encountered since arriving on earth?

Yes, Dean would still be his bond-mate, but without recollection of _who_ Castiel was would ultimately mean Castiel would not be able to visit Dean’s Heaven for anything more than simply monitoring of the behavioural pattern. He would have no reason to interact with the man, and his fellow angels would never permit it.

But what hurt most of all was not the fact that Castiel would not be able to communicate with him again, but more so the fact that Dean would revert back to his old self. He would not be happy, and there would be nothing Castiel would be able to do to change that.

Dean would kill himself in less than a year’s time, just like Michael had predicted.

It was incredibly arrogant to claim the change in Dean’s happiness solely on his presence alone, but it was apparently the key factor as to why Dean’s soul had become so very bright.

He didn’t want that to change. Dean didn’t deserve to be thrown back into his old habits.

“Is there really no one messing with you?” Dean asked quietly.

“Apparently,” Castiel shrugged in response, careful with his movements so not to jostle Dean too much.

“So who moved your blade then? I know for a _fact_ that it wasn’t Sam so –“

“No one moved it,” Castiel interrupted, keeping his voice low and his tone gentle, because he could tell that Dean was getting irritated, and shouting would only upset him further. “I must have simply knocked it out of the way when I was looking for it.”

Dean pulled away from him, sitting up properly and leaning forward so their eyes could meet. “You know that’s not true, Cas,” he said softly, mouth pulled into a tight frown. “I saw your memories – it wasn’t there when you went looking for it.”

Castiel shrugged again. “I could have quite easily forgotten seeing it.”

Dean faced away, letting go of Castiel’s hand to rest his face in his palms. Castiel wanted to reach out and offer some sort of comforting touch, but he was scared Dean would push him away. Dean didn’t like it when Castiel took the blame – even when it was his fault – and he’d probably, inadvertently, initiated an argument.

But it was a while before Dean decided to speak again, and when he did get around to constructing a response, he treated it almost sensitively when he spoke the words, like he was worried it was Castiel who would become more upset by this conversation.

“Remember that day you got really pissed at me cos’ I thought you were reading my mind?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied, looking down at his hands that now rested on his lap. He linked them together whilst he waited for Dean to continue, missing the way Dean’s hand had felt in his own just moments ago.

But it was a day he would never want to forget – it had been odd from start to finish, if the night prior was to be included also. It was the first time Dean had opened up to him without a prompt, and although he’d upset the man greatly earlier on in the morning, if he hadn’t of done so, it would have taken far longer for Dean to trust him.

“Didn’t you say that you could remember everything since you were like, a little kid – apart from some of the stuff because you were really drunk?”

Castiel swallowed. “I did.”

“And before that you showed me what you did remember – because you talking in that … uhhh … _Enochian_ – but it was like, word for word. _Everything_ you showed me was accurate, including the layout of the kitchen – right down to the weird ass pattern we have on the kitchen tiles,” Dean stressed, looking back over his shoulder at Castiel. “Yet you’re telling me that you forgot seeing something that, if it _had_ of been there, would have been on top of the clothes to begin with. If it was there in the first place, Cas, you _would_ have seen it. There’s no question about it.”

Castiel continued to meet Dean’s gaze, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from burning and the prickling in his nose from distracting him. He didn’t want to think about how someone could potentially be tormenting him. Not when it meant that they could easily do the same thing to Dean too.

He didn’t want to think about how someone could be evading Gabriel’s watch – someone like Uriel who was of high status and could quite simply gain permission from Raphael.

 _Anyone_ could be doing it – not just the individuals that had harassed him more than others. There were thousands of angels that would have been more than willing to pursue something so cruel, simply to humour themselves and the various others who were perhaps too cowardly to make fun of him in the first place.

Castiel hated it – it was embarrassing and insensitive, and he didn’t want Dean to receive the same treatment.

“It’s an easy mistake to miss something, Dean. At the time I wasn’t thinking properly, so I could have quite simply not s –“

“But you could remember all that when you were _drunk!_ If anything, you would have been less focussed with alcohol in your system than when you were looking for your blade!” Dean interrupted, that same wounded expression on his face like he was holding back so much more. Castiel wanted to see the emotion through his appearance rather than simply through that of his soul, because although the orb was a dull blue surrounded by an even dimmer shade of pink, it often wasn’t as representative as Dean’s facial expressions. Not all the time, but in instances like now where Dean was trying to conceal the upset hiding behind his features.

“Can we talk about something else, please?” Castiel mumbled, looking away. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this now.”

“What? Because you know I’m right?”

Castiel scowled, shuffling along the settee so that he could stand up and put some space between them. He didn’t want to argue, although Dean was … marginally correct in what he was proposing. Castiel _could_ remember everything.

He didn’t want to admit as such because there was still a possibility that Dean was wrong, and until they had proven it to be true, he would rather not think about the situation at all.

He cast a quick glance over at the man, preferring a different expression to the one he saw. He hated it when Dean frowned – even more so at the sight of how incredibly dark his soul was – and he wished Gabriel hadn’t turned up whilst Dean was there. Gabriel _knew_ that this sort of information would be upsetting to hear for both of them because it would have been far easier to avoid the conversation, and much simpler to mask his emotions, if he had managed to forget about the topic entirely.

He couldn’t afford to let something like this change the way he acted – not when Christmas was only a few days away. Castiel didn’t want to ruin it for anyone, and this year was meant to be the year that Dean was finally happy – the year where his father didn’t abuse him for locking the front door out of habit late at night, or not buying any more beer, or for simply passing him in the hallway when the elder Winchester couldn’t come up with any other reason for deeming violence fit.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, rising up beside him and reaching over to touch his arm. Castiel couldn’t help but flinch, and Dean pulled away abruptly, his face displaying an even more aggrieved appearance than before; one that had Castiel itching to apologise, knowing just how unnecessary the response was even if it was simply out of instinct. He shouldn’t have been recoiling away – not from Dean. Not from the man he trusted with his very existence.

But he placed the happening down to his weariness and his desire to abandon the conversation at present, having been set on edge with the knowledge that Dean could potentially forget about him in spite of the bond.

He had thought that they were safe, but after hearing what Dean had said about possibly having someone deride amusement from moving or taking his belongings had him wondering if they were ever going to be safe, even with Gabriel watching over them.

Even with one of the strongest bonds in the universe tying them together.

“I just want to sit on my own for a while. I’ll be back later,” he promised, attempting a smile before turning to leave the room.

Dean probably knew that they weren’t protected – he was probably trying to warn Castiel about what was going on, even if Gabriel was quite possibly oblivious to it all.

That was more worrying than anything else: Gabriel being unaware of what was going on, if that was, indeed, the case, but Castiel couldn’t be certain that someone was even doing anything to begin with. Just because Dean’s argument was fairly plausible didn’t mean that it was the truth, and Dean was just as clueless about the entire situation as Castiel was, so he really didn’t know what to believe. He wanted to have faith in Dean’s option because that meant that it could be stopped, and if it could be stopped, then he and Dean really _would_ be safe. They could lead a normal life – a life that Castiel craved for – instead of one filled with panic and consistent check-ups to monitor his health.

He made his way through to the kitchen, pulling out a kitchen chair to seat himself at the table. It was quiet in the isolated room – nothing but the light sound of the icy rain beating against the window pane. It reminded him of the time he and Dean had ventured to the forest, back when everything was fine. Of course, he’d experienced a headache the night prior, but that had been nothing in comparison, and he’d merely been able to brush it off as a side effect of falling to earth. That had seemed plausible at the time too, and it still was, for that matter, but things had been simpler. Being with Dean had made that little bit of pain all the more worth it.

Just the prospect of ever meeting Dean had given him the desire to withstand pain, and he still aimed to carry on bearing pain if it meant he could stay by Dean’s side. Dean would probably tell him he was being stupid for being content with such a thing, but that was because Dean didn’t understand.

Castiel thought back to what Gabriel had said about needing to tell Dean of his history soon. It would, admittedly, make things much easier, but there was … a lot to get through. He knew Dean wouldn’t particularly enjoy most of what he was going to be shown, but when the length of such happenings was taken into account, one could see it as even worse an experience.

Castiel didn’t want to have to show Dean on several different occasions – he needed to tell Dean in one sitting alone, otherwise it would simply overcomplicate things, and it would be far easier to keep track of what he’d said and what still needed to be covered, and it would be less painful for the both of them to do it on the one occasion, rather than splitting up the torture and saving it for another day.

Maybe he did need to let Dean know soon. It couldn’t be nearly as bad as when he’d tried to tell Dean anything of importance in the past.

Dean would understand in this instance, and it would make things far less problematic. The man might not expect everything that Castiel would show him, but he probably already assumed the worst.

That would definitely make things easier.

Admittedly, the thought of telling Dean about his past made their current situation that little bit more tolerable.

Castiel consequently managed to eliminate all thoughts about possible death and separation from his mind, and he concentrated on how Dean was feeling; he asked regularly about whether Dean was feeling alright and whether there was anything he could do to help, and it caused a distraction of sorts – maybe not the best kind of distraction, but a distraction nonetheless.

And over the next few days, things became relatively normal. Or rather, as normal as their lives had been prior. Dean was a little more sensitive than usual, and his soul wasn’t quite as bright as Castiel would have liked, but Castiel understood that Dean may not have found an adequate method of distracting himself just yet. The colour change was still fairly decent, as there was only a faint shade of blue around the orb, and as the days passed, it became significantly less in quantity. The pink overrode everything else – including the golds – and in return, it had Castiel feeling much better about everything too.

“You excited?” Dean asked one night, his arms wrapped tightly around Castiel’s shoulders as they lay in bed. It was an instance in which Castiel wished they had both been wearing something a little warmer than a pair of boxers each, but Dean was warm, and his voice was soothing, lulling Castiel into a state of absolute stupor.

“For what,” he murmured in response, smiling to himself when Dean kissed his cheek.

“For Christmas, dummy,” the man chuckled, and Castiel could feel his eyelids drooping in spite of his efforts to keep them open. Dean was just so comfortable to rest against, and Castiel was so used to falling asleep in the same position each night, more often than not. It was very difficult to concentrate properly.

He nodded sluggishly, throwing his leg possessively over Dean’s hip and making the man laugh again. It was such a sweet sound – the perfect lullaby, and it was much more difficult to keep his eyes open afterwards. He wanted to stay awake – to listen to what Dean would hopefully continue with, but his eyes ached, and everything was just perfect for sleep.

Dean kissed his forehead the next time he spoke, breath brushing over the skin afterwards. “I love you, Cas.”

Castiel grinned, languidly, his muscles attempting to refuse cooperation as he descended into his dream state. “Love you too.”

 

*

 

“Guys! Wake up!”

Dean groaned, and he could hear Cas huff out a laugh beside him, the delicate breath tickling the shell of his ear. He rolled his head toward it, cracking open an eye to find Castiel staring at him lazily, his eyes half shut and a dim pink glow surrounding his form. The guy was barely awake himself, but he looked so damn adorable with his hair a complete and utter mess, and a sleepy flush tainting his cheeks and the base of his neck.

“Hi,” Dean croaked, hating how rough his throat felt.

“Hello,” Castiel replied, his smile growing that little bit more, making the bridge of his nose crinkle.

Adorable fucking asshole.

“You sleep okay?” He yawned, stretching out with his arms above his head, taking in a deep breath as his shoulders popped. It was earlier than he would have liked to get up, but this was typical Sam: basically forbidding them from laying around in bed till noon like they’d done the week before the kid had been granted leave from school, forcing them to be up and about by _at least_ half nine. Sam was annoying like that, but it meant that Dean was able to make the most of his day so he was kind of grateful. Not all the time – especially when it meant he and Cas couldn’t _do_ anything unless they woke up earlier, and neither of them particularly wanted to do that either.

Well, they _did_ , but late nights at the bar really took their toll, and they stayed up until around three as it was, simply satisfying their needs.

The angel hummed, kissing him tenderly on the lips before going on to untangle himself from the bed sheets. “I did. How did you sleep?”

“Good, I guess,” Dean offered, propping himself up on his elbows, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position whilst the angel sidled closer, laying down above the comforter in his underwear and bed shirt as he kissed Dean again, laying a palm over his chest.

He didn’t even care about the whole ‘morning breath’ factor anymore, because ever since morning sex had sort of become out of the question, owing to the combined issue of their laziness and Sam’s irritating schedule, morning make-out sessions were the second best thing.

“Look, I’m coming in in five minutes, okay?”

Dean withheld his groan, pulling Castiel onto his chest as the angel’s fingers toyed with his shirt, pinching and teasing it between his fingers as Dean rested back against the pillows once more. Cas was making those cute little breathy noises – kinda like panting, just they were lighter and like little moans of pleasure.

“I love you,” Castiel whispered against Dean’s mouth, letting Dean taste the words as they were spoken before they were kissing again, Cas’ hands coming up to rake through Dean’s hair almost aggressively.

He could already tell that this Christmas was going to be best he’d had in a few years.

Dean pushed at Castiel’s chest gently to move him away, and Castiel sat back with what seemed to be a pout on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean laughed, poking him in the stomach. “We can do this later, okay?”

Castiel quirked an eyebrow. “Define later.”

Dean stalled for a moment. “Preferably when Sam isn’t outside our room, threatening to come in at any minute.”

“I can hear you guys, you know!” Sam shouted through the door, and Dean smirked as the angel bent back down, wishing Sam would stop eavesdropping for just a few minutes.

“Promise?” Castiel smiled softly, smoothing his hands over Dean’s chest.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dean grinned, sitting up and pushing their foreheads together, simply staring into the angel’s eyes. It was the simplicity of the action that made it that much more charming, knowing that something as ordinary as meeting someone’s gaze had the ability to tie his stomach in knots.

But then, everything Cas did had the faculty to make Dean feel significantly better – like, ridiculously so. Even something as basic as a tap on the arm had his stomach writhing with butterflies.

“Can I come in now?” Sam called after rapping on the door. Dean sighed at the noise, closing his eyes for a second. He could hear Cas let out another breathy laugh before the angel was shifting off of him, drawing the comforter back so he could slide beneath the sheets again.

Dean took Cas’ hand atop the blanket, twining their fingers together as Castiel leant against his side.

“Yeah, you can come in.”

Sam swung open the bedroom door, stumbling in with a bag in his hands. “ _Finally_!”

Dean beamed up at the boy, crossing his legs beneath the comforter to make room for Sam to sit down in front of him, seeing as Cas had done the same just moments ago.

“Yeah, and a Merry Christmas to you too, asshole,” Dean huffed in mock irritation, shoving at Sam’s head when the kid sat on the edge of the mattress. “You’d have better got me something good.”

Sam rolled his eyes, tossing the bag onto the bed. “You’d think a bag of M&Ms were good if all I’d done was put a bow on the packet.”

Dean laughed, looping his arm around Castiel’s shoulders without letting go of the angel’s hand. “Screw the bow – you don’t need to dress ‘em up to make them good.”

“You’d really prefer food over a regular present?” Castiel asked.

“Depends,” Dean shrugged, meeting Cas’ gaze. “Did you get me candy, Castiel?”

“No … is that an issue?”

“Not at all,” Dean hummed, leaning closer to peck at his lips. “Not at all.”

Sam let out a groan. “ _Guys_.”

Dean smirked, casting a quick glance over at his younger brother. “Is there a problem, Princess Samantha?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips a little. The world renowned bitchface.

He’d been seeing it more frequently over the past week, owing to his and Castiel’s apparent laziness. It didn’t really faze him anymore.

Well, it never really fazed him in the first place, seeing as he thought it was more amusing than anything else, but he didn’t really know what he’d done this time to deserve a look like that. It wasn’t like he’d shoved his tongue down Castiel’s throat, and the kid was usually fine with them kissing and stuff around him, so whether or not that was the issue now was a little confusing.

“ _Presents,_ ” Sam stressed, reaching for the bag he’d dropped on the bed, and Dean snorted, turning his attention back to the angel tucked beneath his arm. Cas still looked fairly drowsy, his eyes half-open and his smile very slight, but he looked happy, and that was all that mattered.

“Fine,” Dean chuckled, nudging Cas slightly as a form of address. “You’re gonna have to move for a minute, dude. I put the stuff in the wardrobe.”

Castiel nodded, flopping back against the pillows whilst Dean wandered across the room.

He’d organized everything earlier in the week, wrapping stuff while Cas was dozing, or tidying up the rest of the house, or whatever it was that the angel did on Monday afternoon. It wasn’t very often that he and Cas were in different rooms, so it had been somewhat challenging to wrap everything in the few minutes they were actually separated. It'd been stressful to say the least.

He pulled out the two bags, closing the wardrobe door with his elbow before heading over to the bed, watching the curious expression flit over Castiel’s features.

He’d already clarified with Cas that the presents for Sam would be classed as from the both of them because Cas had done so much as it was, and he shouldn’t have to worry himself with buying stuff for Sam when he didn’t even know what the kid liked. Or rather, he probably _did_ know what Sam liked, but it was a simple case of not knowing where to get stuff or whatever.

Dean had got most of it from the local gaming store, and then there was stuff from the book shop, and just a bunch of clothes because Sam was growing way too fast.

As for buying stuff for Cas, maybe it was a little trickier to begin with, but he knew that Cas would appreciate whatever it was regardless, and that definitely made things easier. Dean had ordered it all, mainly because he wouldn’t have been able to go shopping without Cas tagging along in the first place, and that’d be kinda pointless if Cas knew what he was getting. Plus, the guy would have probably made a fuss about not wanting anything, because that seemed to be a recurring issue.

Dean handed the glossy red paper bag to Sam, setting the silver one beside the bed on the floor for later, wanting Sam to open his stuff first.

He’d been able to afford a bit more for the kid this year, which was awesome seeing as the last few years were a bit of a struggle wealth-wise. And obviously, their dad wasn’t here to blow Dean’s earnings on alcohol again, so it was a pretty big relief. Everything was good.

He clambered back beneath the comforter, stacking the remaining pillows behind him so he could lean against the headboard comfortably before pulling Cas to his side again, smiling at the way Cas slumped against him with a look of pure interest on his face as he watched Sam open up the bag. It was cute, even though Cas had already seen what it was that Dean had bought for the kid.

“Can I open them?” Sam asked eagerly, and Dean nodded, going on to rest his head atop Castiel’s own.

They watched him quietly, returning the smiles whenever Sam opened another of the tightly wrapped parcels – it always gave Dean a strange excited sensation whenever he saw that pleased expression on Sammy’s face.

“Thank you!” Sam grinned, lunging forward to hug them both. Castiel seemed more surprised than Dean was, letting out a quiet yelp as they were all pulled into it, crushed against Dean’s chest.

Dean simply laughed, winding his free arm around his brother’s scrawny body. “You’re welcome, dude.”

The hug lasted a few more seconds before Sam pulled back, resuming his former position on the mattress cross-legged, so Dean bent back down to collect Castiel’s gift from the floor.

The angel had regained that same puzzled appearance when Dean held out the bag to him, tilting his head to the side like he didn’t understand the exchange.

“Go on,” Dean prompted, jostling it a little. “Take it.”

Castiel stared up at him, his brow furrowing. “I told you that you didn’t need to get me anything.”

Dean smiled, dropping the bag onto Cas’ lap. “I know.”

Cas looked down at the gift, reaching out a hand to touch at the exterior. Dean had honestly expected a more irritated response, but he knew that Cas wasn’t gonna simply tell him he didn’t want it even if that was the case.

The thing was, this was Castiel’s first Christmas, so Dean had to make it as best he could. It helped a lot with the constant thought that Cas had probably never received a present before, what with people hating on him for being different, so to Dean, gift buying was definitely compulsory. He wanted Cas to have stuff that was actually his own; stuff that they didn’t have to share because the angel didn’t have many belongings at all – if any, aside from the angel blade – and although it was still so very endearing to see Cas wearing Dean’s clothes, not everything fit him properly, and this was a perfect opportunity to start getting him kitted out with a bunch of shirts and stuff.

He hadn’t bought too much, and he’d removed all the price tags with the knowledge that Cas would be pissed to find out Dean had spent quite a bit of money on him, but he’d bought a little less than he had for Sam, just so the angel couldn’t complain about overspending or anything.

“You can actually open it, y’know?” Dean encouraged, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder. “Staring at it won’t do much good.”

Cas’ cheeks went a little pink as he pulled the bag toward him, peering down at its contents before reaching inside and drawing out one of the many parcels.

It was actually kind of entertaining: watching the angel open each gift like it would shatter in his hands if he didn’t remove the tape before peeling back the paper – it became almost ritualistic, muttering softly if he ripped the decoration as if it was more important than what was actually inside.

But he could honestly say he hadn’t expected Cas to start grinning like an idiot whenever he opened up something new, folding each item of clothing carefully and smoothing it out on his lap so that each garment was flat and wrinkle free. They weren’t _all_ plain t-shirts. Dean had thrown in a couple of band ones too – Led Zeppelin, a different Blue Öyster Cult shirt to the one Dean had himself, and another ACDC one, because he knew Cas listened to those bands more often than any others, even if the musical taste had been kind of forced onto him.

And then there was the last item residing at the bottom of the bag. Well, the two things Dean had wrapped together to form a single present. He hadn’t actually thought about it until the very last minute, even if it wasn’t something Cas would do very often, but he bought the stuff anyway.

Castiel held the rectangular gift in his hands, sliding his finger carefully beneath the edge of the paper to remove the tape without damaging the wrapping paper itself. It took less time to unwrap, what with the shape being nowhere near as flexible as that of the clothing, but once it was out in the open, Cas stalled, glancing up at him with wide eyes and a huge smile on his face.

“I thought you’d … well, I mean it wasn’t a _terrible_ idea. You didn’t really give me much to go by, and you’re really good at drawing, so …” Dean offered, rubbing at the back of his neck when Cas started to laugh.

“Thank you,” Castiel said softly, laying the sketchpad atop the pile of clothes before examining the various ink pens and pencils. “I can’t remember the last time I had a book to keep my illustrations in.”

“So you like it, then – all the stuff?” Dean asked, tilting back a little as the angel crawled onto his lap. “Getting a Christmas present isn’t a bad thing?”

Castiel dipped his head a little. “I never said it was bad. I just didn’t want you to spend money on me.”

Dean pushed a hand through Cas’ hair gently, sweeping it away from his forehead so he could kiss the angel’s temple. “Stop worrying about money. It’s not that big a deal.”

This year, it really wasn’t that much of an issue – not with Cas helping out with the bills. Maybe Dean was taking it all a little for granted, but it was an important day, so it _was_ worth it. Dean hadn’t overspent or anything, so they still had enough to do the grocery shopping in addition to paying all their bills, so there wasn’t a problem. Both Sammy and Cas were worth every damn penny.

The angel seated himself between Dean’s legs, leaning back against Dean’s chest as he placed the drawing materials atop the rest of his pile. Dean rested his chin in the crook of Castiel’s neck, winding his arms around his partner’s waist to hold him closer whilst Sam drew out two presents from the bag he’d bought in with him.

The boy smiled, holding out one of loosely wrapped parcels for Dean to take, before doing the same for Cas, handing him a similar sized present that differed in terms of wrapping paper, probably to tell them apart.

While Cas struggled with peeling the tape off, using the same delicate procedure as he’d applied when opening Dean’s gifts beforehand, Dean tore off the paper of his own, drawing out the bizarre pendant that hung from a black cord.

“It’s cool, isn’t it? The guy at the store said it was to do with protection and stuff,” Sam chirped, picking up the discarded wrapping paper from opening his own presents, toying with the ripped edges almost nervously.

It was pretty awesome, if not a little heavy considering its small shape, but yeah: it really was cool.

“Thanks, dude! I love it!” He exclaimed, slipping the cord around his neck, allowing the pendant to fall against his chest. It really did feel weird because of its weight, but it wasn’t that distracting, and it was actually kind of comforting having something Sam had given him so close.

He brought up a hand to get a feel for its features whilst he watched Cas continue to struggle with the wrapping, grinning at the look of pure concentration on the angel’s face.

“You having fun there, buddy?” Dean teased, replacing his hand on Castiel’s stomach, so that he could pull Cas back against him properly again.

“I don’t want to damage the contents,” Castiel stated, picking at the tape with his nails, attempting to raise the corner.

Sam laughed. “You won’t. I’m pretty sure it won’t break.”

Castiel looked up at him, almost as if to seek confirmation, before he became a little more forceful, looking incredibly apologetic when he ripped the wrapping paper a little, and Dean couldn’t help but burst into laughter, watching Cas glance back at him with something like alarm on his features.

But soon the gift was out in the open: a silver pendant – completely different to the one Dean had received himself. This was weirder; a thin, silver circle as a border, with a couple of weird-ass lines and shapes in the centre. It looked incredibly delicate in spite of Sam saying it probably wouldn’t break, but that might have been purely down to the way Cas handled it. The angel was basically cradling it in his palms, running his forefinger over each and every tiny piece that built up the bizarre design.

“Where did you get this?” Castiel queried, a genuine interest to his voice that wasn’t intimidating or harsh in the slightest.

“Same place I got Dean’s. They do loads of these weird symbolic things, so it wasn’t too difficult to find one that represented that angel you’re named after.”

Dean peered down at the weird circle. “Wait, so that symboly thing is Cas’ name?”

“No, no,” Castiel started, raising his hand so Dean could see it better. “It’s Enochian for solitude. That’s one of the meanings of my name.”

Dean didn’t really get how cheerful Cas could be when he announced such a thing. Sure, solitude could be considered a good thing in some cases, but given the way Cas was treated in the past, it was actually kind of sad. Castiel’s loneliness or isolation, as Dean understood it, hadn’t been by choice, yet to know that someone had given him a name that reflected his future life was actually quite scary.

But he didn’t want to say anything, because Cas looked oddly content, slipping it around his neck and tracing the lines with his finger again slowly, smiling to himself as he looped around the pattern.

Castiel placed his free hand over Dean’s after drawing the comforter up against his chest. “Thank you very much for the pendant, Sam. I haven’t seen anything like this in quite some time.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Sam chirped, collecting together all the discarded wrapping paper from the mattress and tidying it away in one of the bags. “Are you gonna give Dean that thingy now?”

The angel tipped his head back so that it rested against Dean’s throat. “Would you like your present now, Dean?”

“I honestly don’t mind, dude.”

“It’s honestly one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen,” Sam said excitedly, and Dean cocked an eyebrow, glancing down to meet Castiel’s lazy, upside down stare.

“So you showed Sam what it is, huh?” He queried, watching the angel smile wider.

“Gabriel had mentioned it to him already, and he would have seen it at some point regardless so I didn’t really see a problem with it,” Castiel told him, pushing away so he could clamber off the mattress.

Dean watched the angel spring over to the wardrobe, Castiel’s shirt rising up as he reached for the bag that resided above the storage unit, and Dean most certainly enjoyed the view.

It was still so very hard to believe that Cas was his – that he had a fucking _angel_ as his boyfriend – especially since Cas was just so fucking adorable, and sexy, and just perfect in every way imaginable. Dean had lost count of the many times he’d thought about just how desperately he’d been searching for someone like Cas; someone who was quite easily one of the most wonderful people in existence, if not _the_ best! Even now he looked so damn perfect, with his ruffled hair and minimal clothing (although that was obviously a turn-on for Dean anyway: seeing Castiel in very few baggy garments with his long legs stretching out from his boxer shorts) he was still the most beautiful creature Dean had ever seen.

Cas reached higher to the top of the wardrobe, patting at the base of that tan bag that Dean had completely forgotten about in an almost gentle fashion, carefully shifting it toward the edge until it rolled safely into his palm, going on to be cradled against Castiel’s chest.

Cas grinned at him before ducking his head shyly as he walked over, his fingers clenching the tan material that little bit more. Dean didn’t really understand why the angel looked so nervous, or even why Sam kept shooting him with these odd little glances, but it sure as hell made him curious as to what it was Cas had got him.

The angel slipped back beneath the sheets beside him, bare thighs pressing together as they drew the comforter back over their legs, and Cas placed the bag on Deans lap, kissing Dean’s cheek softly as he did so.

Dean looked down at the present, observing the exterior now that he had the chance. He'd never seen it up this close before, but it was even more tattered than he remembered; the hem was frayed and the cord unravelling, and the material itself was patchy and faded, making it look far older than Dean had initially thought it to be. He seriously hoped Cas hadn’t gotten him some kind of relic or anything as rare as that because he was one of the clumsiest people when it came to handling delicate things, and he totally didn’t want to trash whatever it was the angel had given him.

“Open it!” Sam urged, and Castiel giggled, smoothing a palm over Dean’s abdomen slowly.

“It might be a little confusing,” Castiel offered. “But I’ll explain it afterwards.”

Dean stared down at the gift before touching at the exterior, pulling the drawstrings loose carefully to widen the mouth of the bag. He could see the faint brightness creeping past the rim, casting delicate blankets of light over the coarse fabric. He already knew that whatever it was that he was getting from Cas would be weird, but he also knew it would be awesome.

He wasn’t, however, expecting the luminous crystal-ball-like object to fall into his palm when he cautiously upturned the bag.

It was fairly large in size – big enough to fit snugly should he cup both palms together – and it was kinda warm against his skin.

The colour was a different spectacle altogether, what with the brightness it gave off. It pulsed and shifted, pinks and golds swirling into bizarrely shaped clouds, swarming over the glass surface like some kind of atmospheric alteration. It reminded Dean of the Phial of Galadriel, even if it didn’t give off that same pure white colour.

But Jesus fucking Christ: it was freakin’ beautiful! It increased in intensity and the pink swarm shone even brighter, and Dean couldn’t help but notice how very _alive_ it looked in terms of the way it kept moving – almost like it had a little heartbeat. The thought of it being a living creature was oddly terrifying, but it was just so fucking incredible he didn’t want to care.

“Fuck …” he whispered, rolling it around in his hands. It kind of reminded him of a snow globe, except the colours didn’t fall to the base, and they simply floated in the centre.

Well, at least they _did_ until Cas tapped on the surface, and suddenly tiny strands were drawn to where his fingertip had once been like tendrils, bouncing off of the rounded surface to join the cloud back in the centre.

In addition to the slight heat that washed through his chest, that is. The oh-so-familiar warmth that spread through his torso like a delicate tide, and just like that he knew.

“It’s called a ‘soul-shard’,” Castiel told him, his hand reaching out to tap the surface of the orb once more, and Dean shivered, craving more of the sensation provided.

“That’s cool,” he whispered, encouraging the angel to touch it again. Cas looked up at him with a smile as he ran another finger over the surface, and Dean bent down to kiss him properly, growing warmer when Cas’ entire body turned into it, and Dean took his hand, guiding it over his solar plexus and holding it there. He let the orb fall to the bed for a moment as he cupped the back of Castiel’s head, feeling the entirety of Cas’ smile against his mouth.

“Care to tell me why it’s called that?” Dean questioned as he pulled back, rubbing their noses together and eliciting a timid laugh from his partner.

“It’s rumoured that this is what human souls look like, should you choose to believe humans possess souls in the first place. Each design is unique, because of the oils trapped beneath the surface, and it moves depending on the temperature,” Cas murmured, reaching for the little bag before scooping up the orb in his palm, the tattered material preventing it from coming into contact with his skin.

“Really?”

“Mmmnn.”

“Well, thank you very much, Castiel,” Dean grinned, taking the soul-shard from Cas carefully and rubbing his thumb over its glowing exterior.

It really was incredible. Dean didn’t know how he could thank Cas properly for something like this, especially since he had quite obviously gotten it from Heaven. That was incredible in itself, knowing that it was from a place that most people didn’t even believe existed, and to think that he was trusted enough to have something so wonderful had him wanting to thank the angel in every way fucking imaginable.

Dean didn’t deserve something so fucking awesome.

“Told you it was cool," Sam insisted buoyantly, gathering together his gifts in his arms. “It keeps moving around like its alive, doesn’t it?”

Surely it was, in a way, alive. If this was Dean’s soul – or a replica or whatever it actually was – then the way the lights kept moving was understandable. That and the warmth.

And then there were the little pulses of pleasure Dean received when Cas touched it. Those had to be connected somehow.

Sammy rose up from the mattress with his presents clutched to his chest. “Is it okay if I go play my games, and you guys can stay in bed for a while longer?”

“Yes,” he and Cas said simultaneously, turning toward each other almost automatically. Cas’ Grace flared and a blush began to colour his cheeks, but he more than willingly met Dean’s gaze, eyes dark and full of interest, sending a pulse of want coursing through Dean’s veins.

He heard the gentle _click_ of the door being closed behind Sam, and Castiel was on him in an instant; rising up on his knees and working one of them between Dean’s thighs as he lowered them sideways against the pillows. His movements were slow, but forceful, and Dean simply grinned, winding his arms around Castiel’s waist as he held on tight to his gift, eager to keep it close at all times.

“So, this ‘soul-shard’ thing is just a rumour, huh?” Dean spoke against Castiel’s lips, letting his eyes flutter shut when Cas’ fingers ghosted over his crotch between them.

But then they were yanking at the base of Dean’s shirt, encouraging it higher up his body until Dean gave in and pulled it off himself, relaxing against the pillows again as he heard Castiel rid himself of his own crumpled tee.

“Maybe,” Cas sighed, his mouth pressing light and quick kisses across Dean’s chest whilst his hands left hot trails on his skin. “Maybe not.”

“You told me it wasn’t girly,” Dean smirked, allowing the angel to explore over his abdomen with his mouth, enjoying the frequent puffs of breath that swept over his muscle, making his dick twitch in anticipation.

“It’s beautiful. Not girly,” Castiel replied, his tongue darting into Dean’s navel and making him squirm. Cas _knew_ it made him feel funny, so it kinda annoyed him that the angel continued to do it, but at the same time it was hot, and it made his skin tingle for minutes after the contact so he didn’t know whether he wanted it to stop, or whether he wanted Cas to do it more fucking often.

“So, uhhh,” Dean began, his breath hitching at the weight of Cas’ erection against the lower half of his thigh. “You gonna tell me the non-bullshit version now that Sam is gone?”

Castiel laughed lightly as he began to knead Dean through his underwear, palm pressing down firmly, “It’s a _fragment_ of your soul,” Castiel murmured, his lips moving against Dean’s hip. “It’s what angels use to keep their member of charge happy.”

Cas reached for Dean’s hand, dragging his fingertips over the exposed part of the orb harshly and Dean could feel a different sensation take hold – something stronger that was borderline _orgasmic!_

“How the fuck are you doing that?” He cried out, nearing on a whimper when Cas’ finger lingered on the surface at Dean’s statement, going on to draw over its exterior slowly.

"It’s a part of you, Dean. My touch affects you in the way I want it to.”

“Part of me, huh?” Dean croaked, biting his lip when Cas began to tease the waistband of his boxers with his teeth.

So basically, Cas was using it as some sort of kinky sex toy.

In all honesty, it _did_ provide him with one of the most glorious sensations in the world, and knowing that it turned Cas on too had him more than willing to participate in the miniature orgy, if that’s what they could classify it as.

Castiel moved back up his body when Dean raised his hips, arching into the press of Castiel’s palm whilst the angel began to mouth at his jaw, the slightest touch of tongue over his day old stubble. But he could feel Castiel’s hand settle that little bit further down, long fingers touching at his perineum through the thin fabric of his underwear and making him gasp.

Cas had never … well, they’d never done anything more than jerk each other off and touch everywhere other than _there_ and the more intimate area directly behind it, but _fuck_ did it have him getting his hopes up, because he genuinely wanted nothing more right now than for Cas to fuck him.

“You like that, Dean?” Cas asked coyly, and _shit_ : he was rubbing it now, apparently set on wrenching as many broken sighs from Dean as he possibly could.

Dean opened his eyes weakly, staring down at the angel who was still rocking against his thigh, his other hand gently teasing the soul-shard so Dean had nothing but the hot sensation on his mind.

The multiple gestures ceased after a while, with Castiel simply resting a hand over Dean’s solar plexus whilst he apparently forced as much energy into the orb as possible, kissing him desperately as he got them both off.

Sure, Dean had been expecting a little more, but this was still incredible – and besides, he wasn’t going to make Cas do anything he didn’t want to. The angel was a bit of a tease, and there was nothing wrong with that. Dean shouldn’t be expecting him to go further. Not when he’d given so much as it was.

The sex shouldn’t even matter – it wasn’t a necessity, and regardless: they had days ahead of them. Weeks, months, years – they had the rest of their lives to adjust to their relationship. Right now, Dean felt like he’d rushed Cas into everything.

The angel clearly didn’t mind their situation, and it definitely made Dean a bit more relaxed. He didn’t want Cas disappointed or feeling pressured into doing anything simply because Dean wanted him to, so in a way, this instance was great. Cas was doing what _he_ wanted.

So yeah: things were good. More so since Gabriel had visited them just the day before claiming he’d found a better method of keeping Cas safe from future harm. Maybe Cas hadn’t seemed too convinced, but for the first time since Cas’ wings breaking free, Dean actually felt confident that his angel was gonna be fine.

 

*

 

"Fuck! I'm gonna have trouble keeping you to myself tonight," Dean teased, pulling on a dark button-down shirt. The lighting wasn't terribly great in the bedroom, but it was most likely black in colour, not that it particularly mattered.

Castiel himself wore similar piece of clothing. It was smart and relatively comfortable - very soft against his skin. His, he knew for certain, was a navy blue, and longer in sleeve length. Despite this, he'd chosen to roll them up a little, given the tight cuffs that clamped down on his wrists otherwise. Dean had insisted that such attire was recommended for where they were going because of the copious amount of 'stuck-up-twats' that dined there also. Whether that was now an official social class remained a mystery, as Dean had chosen not to elaborate.

Dean looked very nice in his slim-fitting shirt and jeans. If Castiel could have his way, he would make the man dress in such a fashion more often.

He felt rather anxious about the evening ahead, knowing that they would not be alone to eat their meal. Cas was still ill at ease when surrounded by people he didn’t know, and he wasn't sure as to whether he would have to become engaged in conversation with multiple individuals or not.

Working at the bar was difficult enough.

"You okay Cas?" Dean asked quietly, tapping his arm.

"Yes," he smiled, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt. "Are you?"

"Uh-huh,” the man replied. “... You sure though? You look a little out-of-sorts."

Castiel grinned as he leant forward, pressing his lips to Dean's momentarily. "Don’t worry. I'm merely looking forward to the time we’ll share alone later this evening."

Dean went a little pink, eyes bright and animated, with that familiar wolfish grin plastered to his face. Cas stooped to the ground to collect his shoes, dropping back onto the mattress so that he could pull them on. The other man continued to bustle about the room, slipping his watch on and spraying himself with a very pleasant fragrance before finally sitting down beside him.

"I look forward to that too."

Sam had decided to stay at a friend’s tonight, and although Dean had been somewhat against it at first, given that it was New Year’s Eve, he eventually gave in, resulting in the house being one person short.

Dean had emphasised that fact a few times, insisting that they had the entire night to do whatever they wanted without having to worry about making Sam uncomfortable.

Or waking him up.

"We should probably get going," Dean said softly, petting him on the head gently. "C'mon."

They drove in Dean's prized vehicle, a short journey, no longer than fifteen minutes, although it definitely felt shorter. Castiel actually wished it had lasted longer.

It was rare for him to hear Dean sing, so to hear the gravely rendition of _Burnin’ For You_ over that of the original track mid-journey had a smile breaking out on Castiel’s face, and he leant against the man’s shoulder, turning the stereo down a little so he could hear Dean’s voice much more clearly.

It was fairly dark out, artificial light illuminating homes, casting delicate golden blankets over the street. He had become accustomed to the darkness, preferring the silence that accompanied it. The quiet atmosphere reminded him of his watch over Dean for so many years; barely any communication made with his fellow angels, just himself and the muted world below. Blotting out the sound allowed him to think and tamper with Dean's soul without his concentration being broken.

Dean parked in a small lot, just across the road from where they were going to be eating. The restaurant itself was fairly big - much larger than the cafe they had visited weeks ago. And it was much more crowded.

They were shown to a table that was placed against an orange wall. Numerous pictures of landmarks and cities covered the bright wallpaper, none of which particularly did said places justice. Obviously Castiel had never visited such places himself, but the view from Heaven had allowed him a much better look than these images did.

Sitting opposite the man of his interest distracted him from the bustle around them, waiters and the like darting between the surrounding tables, carrying shiny black trays with crockery stacked atop them. It was a very different environment to those Castiel was used to – more so because of the amount of people that packed around them, seated at equally as small tables. Dean’s college had been slightly crowded, and it had been just as loud, but Castiel hadn’t had to stay surrounded by so many people for very long, and the noise had dissipated when he’d joined Dean in his class.

As for the bar, it was a fairly quiet location. Mostly regulars stopping by, demanding no attention whatsoever.

"I think I chose the worst night to take you out for a meal," Dean sighed, resting his head in his palms as he leant forward on his elbows. "Sorry, dude."

Castiel smiled at his companion, brushing aside his own anxiety when he realised how uncomfortable it was making Dean. Sometimes he forgot that such changes showed in his Grace and he was still adjusting to the knowledge that Dean could see it. "Don't apologise," he said lightly, toying with the menu lain out in front of him and twisting the laminated corners between his fingers. "This is perfect."

He was with Dean. That was all that mattered to him.

"Do you know how much I love you right now" Dean laughed softly, reaching a hand across to take one of Castiel's own. The touch was gentle, and earned them a few glances from those around them. He couldn't bring himself to care, merely content that he was the centre of Dean's attention. No one else could be as close to Dean as he was.

"I love you too."

He could see Dean's soul burst with colour, the pink entirety becoming a multitude of different shades. The man looked down at his own menu, thumb caressing the back of Cas' wrist soothingly all the while, a smile on his face. "I think I know what I'm having. Have you decided yet?"

Castiel looked down at the laminated sheet briefly, running his eyes over the list of foreign dishes before losing interest. "I want whatever you're having, Dean."

"Even in terms of drinks? You don't want wine or anything?"

He shook his head, meeting Dean's curious gaze. "Whatever you're having," he repeated again.

"One day you're gonna regret it," the man chuckled, straightening up as a thin, fair haired woman approached them; she wore a similar black attire to her colleagues, dark blouse tucked neatly into the same coloured pants with her hair tied back to keep it away from her face.

“You two like anything to drink?” The girl asked, raising her voice a little over the noise.

“Yes,” Dean chirped, looking down at the menu again. “Can we have two orange juices, please.”

The girl quirked an eyebrow and Dean smiled up at her brightly, his thumb continuing to stroke over the back of Castiel’s palm. Castiel simply smirked, tilting his head to the side as he caught Dean’s eye, watching the whimsical expression become that little bit more playful, and he kicked the man lightly under the table before glancing away.

“Alright then,” the waitress mumbled – or at least, that’s what Castiel _thought_ she said, what with not being able to hear overly well without the voice in favour being raised – wandering off toward the back of the restaurant.

Castiel faced his partner again once he was sure the girl had left, noticing that the man was still staring at him.

“I take it orange juice isn’t considered a sophisticated drink in this kind of place.”

Dean grinned, resting his chin in his palm again. “Just like pizza isn’t considered a sophisticated kind of food.”

Maybe ordering such a thing did earn them a few more glances, but they were content – and besides: if pizza was such an obscure choice, then why was it present on the menu in the first place?

 

*

 

Dean raised the fork, grinning as he reached across the table to cup Castiel’s jaw. “Okay, open.”

Castiel smirked before he obeyed, welcoming the food into his mouth.

Dean didn’t care if the couple next to them made yet another disgusted snort, and it seemed Cas was in the same mindset, continuing his little smirk as his lips clamped down on the piece of cutlery, sliding off slowly with his eyes locked on Dean’s.

“Y’know, you should star in a porno or something,” Dean teased, keeping his voice low so the douche bag next to them wouldn’t kick up a fuss. “That mouth of yours is truly mesmerizing.”

Cas went a little pink, swallowing his mouthful and licking the pastry crumbs from his lips. “Maybe if you told me that more often, I’d do more with it.”

Dean choked on his next breath, making the angel laugh.

“Sorry,” Cas grinned, taking the fork from Dean’s fingers whilst he was still struggling to compose himself. “Guess you can’t finish your pie now, right?”

Dean groaned, reaching for the fork again. “I’m perfectly capable of finishing dessert.”

The angel simply brought the cutlery up to his mouth, licking at the prongs to clean it of the filling. “Uh-huh.”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out if you keep that up,” Dean told him jokingly, gently prising his fork from Castiel’s grip so that he could finish eating. Castiel went on watching, fiddling with the tablecloth as Dean scooped up another bite.

Cas hadn’t really wanted anything for dessert, and to be perfectly honest, Dean hadn’t felt up to eating anymore either.

But then he’d looked at the menu, and decided that it was worth postponing sex for another fifteen minutes.

Given that Cas had never actually tried pie before, this was basically a perfect opportunity, and although they were technically _sharing_ , Dean had been more than willing to feed Cas the majority. They’d been given a fairly generous portion as it was, and as much as Dean loved pie, he might just love watching Cas eat it that little bit more.

 

*

 

Dean laughed as Cas pushed him back against the front door, happily tilting his head back as Cas began to nip at his throat. He slipped his hands around the angel’s waist, running them over the soft material of Cas’ shirt as he pulled their torso’s together. It suited Castiel way better than it ever did Dean, and it made his creamy skin all that more fucking attractive – especially in this lighting, where the shadows accentuated the bone structure of his face, and the way his collar bone became that little bit more prominent above the garment when the fabric shifted.

“Someone’s eager,” Dean joked at the slow rut of hips against his right thigh, and he pushed his leg forward to aid the pressure against Castiel’s crotch, relishing the gasp that slapped against his neck.

“I’ve been waiting all evening, Dean,” Cas growled, the low sound sending a jolt of electricity tripping down Dean’s spine. “Just get inside.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin, sliding his palms over the swell of Castiel’s ass. “You, or the house?”

Castiel laughed softly, kissing each and every bite mark he’d decorated Dean’s skin with over the past few minutes. “I don’t think it’d be wise to fornicate outside in this weather.”

Dean snorted at Castiel’s vocabulary, fumbling behind him as he attempted to fit the key in the lock. It wasn’t exactly the simplest of tasks. Unlocking a door in the dark was hard enough as it was without having to face away from it completely with an angel grinding up against you, and the fact that Cas wouldn’t stop for a second – mouthing behind Dean’s ear with the occasional scrape of teeth – threw off his concentration completely. It was easily another five minutes before Dean even tried to get the key fitted in the lock again.

“You’re really fucking distracting, dude,” Dean told him honestly, pouting at the sound of the key scraping over metal but failing to actually _fit_. It was acting like an inanimate cockblock, and Dean found himself growing more and more irritated by the damn door.

Castiel giggled, stilling his hips as he reached for Dean’s hand. “Give me the key and I’ll do it.”

Dean handed the keychain over, and Castiel plucked it away by the key Dean was holding, drawing it close to his face and examining it carefully.

“You do realise you were using the key to the impala, don’t you?”

Dean slammed his head back against the glass pane. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope,” Castiel hummed, opening the door almost instantaneously, forcing Dean to steady himself by latching onto the doorframe. The angel sauntered into the house, grabbing at the collar of Dean’s shirt to drag him along, and Dean kicked the front door closed hastily, attempting to keep up without falling flat on his face.

Castiel came to a stop at the bottom of the staircase, kicking off the converse sneakers that Dean had bought for him two weeks ago – what with his other shoes pretty much falling apart in the snow – glancing at Dean almost shyly as he loosened his grip on the shirt.

The transition to the bedroom went by in a blur, but all Dean knew was that by the time they reached the landing, they were both naked, laughing at themselves for being so impatient as they rubbed up against each other. Their kisses were soft and their movements gentle, staying just as sweet when they toppled onto the mattress in a mess of limbs and bed sheets.

Cas lay back, running his fingers through Dean’s hair lethargically as Dean kissed over his shoulders, his pectorals, lingering on the purple mark that was beginning to fade, for a few moments longer, and the angel made light noises of content, curling his other hand in the underside of a pillow.

“What would you like, Cas?” Dean murmured against his skin, breathing in the delicate scent of soap. “We can do whatever you want.”

Castiel giggled again, tracing his fingertips over the knob of Dean’s spine. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Dean complied when Castiel tugged lightly on his hair, settling higher up on the angel’s chest as he smoothed a hand over Cas’ stomach.

“Anything?”

“Yup,” Dean grinned, watching Cas press his lips together, rolling them between his teeth like he was trying to hide his smile. Dean thought it was fairly amusing that Cas was willing to make decisions when it came to sex, but not when it came to anything else. Like earlier, when he’d let Dean choose for him. This definitely seemed to appeal to the guy more.

“So if I wanted to make love to you, you’d let me?”

Dean grinned wider at Castiel’s romanticization. It was cute, and sounded kinda old fashioned, but Dean was all for it, rolling onto his back and pulling Cas atop him so that their positions were reversed.

“I would.”

The glow around Castiel’s form shone profoundly, a burst of pink radiating outwards like a wave, and Dean kissed the angel carefully, cupping the back of his head to bring their mouths together. It was brief, with Castiel shuffling down the mattress fairly quickly afterwards; dropping kisses over Dean’s abdomen and groin, pressing his lips to the tip of Dean’s cock tentatively before descending even lower. “Roll over, Dean.”

Dean did as he was told, feeling the mattress shift as Castiel settled between his thighs once more, and he closed his eyes, tensing a little as Cas ran a finger down the cleft of his ass.

He’d never really liked this kind of position, but then again, even after dating a few guys, he was still so used to topping with women. He remembered the pain after his first time though, and he could recall the dull ache after every other encounter – but it always felt _good_. Sure, Dean might have wanted a distraction at those moments in time, and the mild pain had provided just that, but it was pleasurable in its own way too.

He knew Cas would never hurt him, though – that was one thing he was certain of. Cas wouldn’t manipulate him for any sadistic reason, and if it was anything like Cas’ words suggested, the angel was gonna be gentle as fuck.

It was weird at first: the feeling of Castiel’s palms skating over his ass, moving further down to touch his thighs and part them a little more, but what was weirder was when they returned to their initial position, spreading his ass cheeks with Cas blowing lightly against the sensitive skin. _That_ kind of tickled, and Dean rocked forward against the mattress when he felt the press of something wet to his hole – and _holyfuckingshit,_ was that Cas’ _tongue?!_

The touch came again, firmer this time, and Dean groaned, pushing back until the tip began to circle the ring of muscle languidly. “You dirty little fucker,” he sighed, clenching the comforter in his hands as his hips rocked forward of their own accord. Castiel hummed in response, pressing against the centre with short, quick flicks of his tongue that had Dean panting in spite of such a slight activity.

He’d never expected his first experience of rimming to be with an angel of the fucking Lord, that’s for sure.

Before long, tongue was replaced with fingers, and Dean raised himself up on his knees as the three digits worked him open carefully with slow, dry plunges, and yeah, maybe it did burn a little, but it wasn’t that uncomfortable overall. Dean had definitely had worse experiences.

He stayed in the same bowed position even after Cas drew out, unsure of how the angel intended to proceed.

“Do you have anything to make this easier for you?”

Dean grinned, rising up so that he could reach for his bedside cabinet. He fumbled around in the top drawer briefly before finding the bottle of lube, and he held it out for Cas to take, surprised when the angel knocked him onto his back again.

“I want to see you,” Cas murmured, squeezing some of the liquid into his palm, going on to apply the majority to his cock, and the rest to his fingers. Dean was kinda confused by the action – more so when Cas began to press them into his hole again. Castiel seemed to catch on, smiling and kissing Dean chastely on the lips. “I don’t want to hurt you at all, Dean. Not if it can be helped.”

Dean raised one of his knees to give Cas better access, closing his eyes as the angel began to stretch him open again. “You won’t, dude. I’ll be fine.”

And he was. Cas was just as cautious when it came to pushing in with his cock as he was with his fingers, and the way Cas’ breath hitched as he embedded himself had Dean letting out a light laugh, because _that_ was a feeling Dean would never forget.

But this didn’t hurt in the slightest, even without a condom adding to the ease, and just knowing that it was _Cas_ inside of him gave him a new sense of pleasure altogether.

Cas wasn’t gonna take what he wanted and leave straight afterwards. The angel wasn’t some one night stand.

And to Dean, this wasn’t just sex. Cas wasn’t fucking into him like any of Dean’s previous male partners. Everything about this was sensual and slow, and Dean realised that there was a _significant_ difference between ‘making love’ and sex.

This was way better.

Every thrust was angled perfectly to brush Dean’s prostate, every kiss they shared _meant_ something, and the way Castiel touched him surpassed anything he’d ever experienced before. It was the combination of all three that turned want into need, his body responding from even the simplest of gestures; a hand sliding into his own so their fingers could lock together, another cradling the back of his neck so that their mouths could meet – like it was their first time kissing each other all over again.

Dean came first, with the angel practically hijacking his orgasm by hastily slapping a hand over his soul, and their mouths moved together furiously, Dean groaning at his release. Castiel didn’t last much longer, but he kept quiet, nothing but the sharp rut of his hips and a heavy sigh, along with the incredible warmth that filled Dean up to identify with.

He ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair when his partner began to draw out, pulling Cas close to his chest so that their lips could brush again.

“It didn’t hurt, did it?” Castiel whispered, plucking Dean’s fingers from the top of his head so they could hold hands once more, and Dean grinned, smoothing his other hand down the angel’s back.

It didn’t even hurt _now._ The ache was much less obvious than times before, and there was still that light buzz ringing in his ears that distracted him from everything else. “No, it didn’t.”

Castiel’s glow flashed with white, his eyes shining with amusement, and Dean kissed him as gently as he could, squeezing his hand before pulling the rumpled comforter over them both to prevent them from growing cold.

They showered together a while later, using up the last of the hot water before the heater switched off, going on to curl up on the couch with a blanket, wearing nothing but their underwear.

And Cas had his wings out.

Dean hadn’t been sure about it at first, but arguing was … difficult. Cas threw in a lot of good points about needing to stretch them soon anyway, and how he’d have to do it when Sam was around otherwise; so Dean just gave in, leaving the angel to break them free on his own because apparently it wasn’t particularly nice to watch.

But Dean definitely felt warmer with the fluffy limb curled around his shoulders, Castiel resting against his side with a light flush to his cheeks. Their hands were linked again, resting on Dean’s thigh whilst they watched TV, waiting for the countdown to air.

“Y’know,” Dean started, dragging the fingers of his free hand along the underside of Cas’ wing as the image of Times Square flashed onto the screen. “Even though I’ve only known you two months, you’ve still made this one of the best years of my life.”

Castiel’s wings fluttered profusely, the angel grabbing them to still the movement whilst his face grew incredibly pink.

But it was like Cas seemed to rethink his actions, and let go, bringing Dean’s hand up to his mouth to kiss the back of his wrist tenderly, a smile pressing to his skin whilst Castiel’s wings continued to curve excitedly around them.

The countdown hadn’t even started by the time their mouths slotted together, spoken numbers became background noise, drowned out by the muffled groans of pleasure as Dean fisted a handful of Castiel’s feathers, tugging lightly. It was only once he heard the shouts and laughter outside the house did Dean pull away, pushing their foreheads together at the first sound of a firework exploding in the sky.

“Happy New Year, Cas,” he grinned, brushing the damp hair away from Castiel’s forehead to get a better look at his eyes, the pink taint to his cheeks that made them look that much more _blue_.

And then Cas was laughing, rolling off the settee and tugging on Dean’s hand, leading him into the kitchen and over to the back door, glancing back with a wide smile as he opened it and sauntered out into the frozen garden.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he said softly, wrapping both his arms and his wings around Dean’s chest in order to drag him out onto the icy step. It felt like the soles of Dean’s feet were burning, but he didn’t care, nosing against the side of Castiel’s face as they both looked up into the darkness. It was a few seconds more before a burst of colour filled the sky, golds and purples fizzing out against the stars with a loud bang, more laughter filling the street behind them.

“I think I’m ready now,” the angel announced quietly, still staring at the residue the firework left in its wake.

“Ready for what?” Dean asked, watching Cas close his eyes for a moment, relaxation easing over his features.

Cas leant against him fully, wings tightening their hold.

“To tell you everything.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so ... i finally got around to drawing something for the fic ...  
> hope it looks okay


	14. Young and Afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im actually getting worse with my deadlines, and this chapter was meant to be twice this length but i wanted to give you guys something anyway
> 
> sorry

They gave themselves to the streets, they saved

They took the challenge to keep our faith

We can’t imagine the way, we can’t imagine the day

They put their hate in the waves

They put their heart in the way

_While She Sleeps_

 

Dean blinked a few times as he was pulled into a tighter embrace, taking in what Castiel had just said, and replaying the words in his mind, because this was a very big step – hell, it was basically the  _final_  step. 

Castiel’s history had been the main instigator for their fights – and yes, it was all down to Dean’s ignorance and utter idiocy, but this was good, right? The whole openness and trusting each other would probably make their relationship stronger than before; more so after they could actually talk about it. Talking really did seem to help. 

"R-really?" Dean garbled. "You really feel up to it?"

Castiel's nose was cold against Dean's throat, nuzzling beneath his chin as another firework sounded in the sky. "I wouldn't have said so otherwise."

Dean didn’t really know how to react, because smiling might be seen as sadistic, yet he didn’t want to make Cas feel uncomfortable or something – and  _fuck:_  this was important, because Cas was the greatest fucking thing to ever happen to him and he couldn’t afford to make his angel upset at this point in time.

“Are you ... okay with now?” Castiel asked, words mumbled against Dean’s skin. “I don’t want to talk about it if you aren’t comfortable with the timing.”

“N-no – now’s fine!” Dean assured him, squeezing his shoulders before trying to pull away. He didn’t think standing outside in the snow was such a great idea, even though Cas had managed to endure it before. Dean didn’t want either of them getting frostbite, and he didn’t want Cas using his angel blade to heal him anymore. 

It was a concern of his, knowing that using its energy as much as Cas had could make him more susceptible to harm and manipulation. And yes, maybe Cas would have to use the blade for communication in this instance, but Dean hoped it would be the last time they’d even require it. Cas needed to keep all that energy for himself in case something bad happened to him again.

Dean took his hands carefully, kissing the tips of his fingers before they shut and locked the back door, making their way through to the hallway.

Apparently there was a lot to get through, but Dean had kind of expected that in the first place. Four-hundred and thirteen years  _was_  a long time, and considering the fact that Cas remembered everything that was going on since he was really young, Dean would be watching everything – almost like they were reversing roles for a day. 

Dean actually wished he hadn’t thought about it like that, knowing that Cas had been able to help him yet in this case, Dean wouldn’t be able to help in return. Not whilst he watched it all play out.

The talking part Dean was more equipped for, knowing just how helpful it really was to talk about past issues himself, and he really hoped it would make Cas feel more at ease about the whole situation with his headaches and that once he got this off his chest.

As they started up the stairs, Castiel said something about how different this instance would be. Dean would not only watching, but Castiel was intending to share thoughts and feelings with him also. 

Excluding physical pain. 

Dean had thought about that part a lot with everything else sinking in, because he didn’t  _want_  to see Cas being bullied. It was the main concern, but it made Dean feel a little bit ill when he ran the idea through his mind. He hoped things weren’t too bad, and that the pain was more of the war side of things. Castiel was a warrior after all, and Dean didn’t understand how that fit in with everything else unless he’d been in a battle of some kind.

In a way, yes: Dean was excited. He shouldn’t be, because from what he already understood, Castiel had suffered through a lot. 

And it was probably going to be really fucking tough for him.

They stepped into the bedroom, linked hands seperating as Castiel retreived his blade from where they left it on the chest of drawers and Dean climbed into bed, drawing back the comforter so that Castiel could lay next to him comfortably when he came back over.

He watched the way the tips of Castiel’s wings dragged over the floor, a few feathers coming loose and clinging to the carpet, and Dean made a mental note to check the rest of the house for any others before Sam got back.

He rolled onto his side as Castiel clambered in beside him, pulling the angel to his chest as the wing settled around him, splaying against his back so they had mutual warmth in addition to the comforter Dean tugged on top of them.

Laying in such a way, as Castiel had said, would mean their thoughts would be easier to interweave. They had a lot of skin-on-skin contact, which Dean was totally okay with, but he was still a little worried about Castiel and whether he really was ready for this. It was a little abrubt, his announcement, but it was his decision, and if Cas wanted to talk now, then Dean was definitely ready to listen.

Castiel wriggled up so his head was tucked beneath Dean’s chin, their hands clasped together over the blade they shared between them, fingers overlapping as they tried to twine together without the weapon in the way. It was cold, but then it was also warm; Castiel’s energy was seeping into him already, gently, and he let himself relax against the angel, knowing that Cas had already instigated the ‘thought transaction’, as he called it, between them.

Dean closed his eyes, biting his lower lip as the first blurry image became crystal clear in his thoughts, and the new sensation Castiel’s thoughts provided took over.

It was like Dean was opening his eyes to a large woodland. It was pretty hard to tell where exactly he was, but it reminded him of Endor. He kind of expected a bunch of Ewoks to come bursting out of the trees any second.

But yeah, it was basically a forest.

With no one else in sight.

Dean was actually kind of confused, remembering how the last time he’d been shown Cas’ memories, Cas had been there. He couldn’t see any sign of the angel, let alone another of the same species.

Was this even Heaven?

Castiel had told him a little about it. He knew about that tree – the Tree of Life. Maybe it was around here somewhere, not that Dean could go and explore even if he wanted to. It was like watching a movie, with no bathroom breaks or snacks, and in this case: deafening silence.

That is, until some redheaded kid came barrelling through the shrubbery, a grin on her face and a grass stained dress. It was only once she turned did Dean see the wings: tiny little white plumes with pink tips, and a pure glow around her. 

There was a bubble of excitement surging through the connection at this point and another kid tumbled after her. Dean didn’t even have to guess who it was, grinning to himself at the sight of Castiel’s tiny little form. He was fucking adorable, with his big blue eyes and knotted hair. 

But Dean could already see that Cas hadn’t gotten wings yet, some weird-ass kaftan shirt thing covering the majority of his body, and it took him a second to register why it was he looked so damn happy. 

They couldn’t discriminate him without his wings.

Cas just looked so young, though – innocent like angels had always been thought of as – and he looked  _completely_  human, which was something of a surprise. He didn’t even have that blue glow around him.

And just like that they changed scenery, Castiel and the girl materializing in a weird looking chamber. It wasn’t that welcoming, a few paintings on the walls and golden skirting boards, but it consisted of plain furniture that completely threw off the whole glamorous look it would have had going otherwise.

Castiel was sitting on a small wooden bench – almost like the skeleton of a couch – with the girl beside him, talking softly to each other.

“What do you think they’ll look like?” Castiel asked, his voice a surprise, given the usual roughness it possessed. Dean wasn’t really sure what to think of it, but it was cute, so he didn’t let his opinion wander any further than that.

Dean could see the discomfort in his face though, so whatever it was they were talking about – presumably his wings – was probably hurting him. Dean didn’t want to think about that either, knowing that it’d probably be a lot tougher for his kid-self to go through all that unsheathing crap when he was so fucking little. He looked about five, even though he spoke with the same Goddamn clarity. Dean shouldn’t have found that amusing, seeing as it was actually pretty bizarre. He had to keep reminding himself that they were  _angels_  and not humans. There were significant differences.

“Like Joshua’s,” the girl replied, her long red hair falling over her shoulder as she bowed her head a little.

Castiel looked positively ecstatic, his big eyes going even wider. “Really?!”

The girl nodded, throwing him a smile, and Castiel grinned, swinging his legs as he looked over to the doorway. 

The name  _Anael_  entered Dean’s thoughts a few times, associated with a flurry of questions Castiel had apparently thought about at the time:  _will Anael like them? Will she compliment my Grace?_

Dean was actually finding it difficult to concentrate on his own thoughts with Castiel’s basically taking over. It was like they were becoming the same person – like they were the same mind, and sure, it was throwing Dean off a little, but it just felt so strange!

The pair sat there for a long time, Castiel maintaining his cheerful appearance as his fat little legs kicked out in front of him until an older angel with large brown wings entered the room. For a moment, Dean thought the guy was an archangel, given his golden-like glow, but he looked way older than Gabriel did, and he had two wings instead of six.

“Castiel.”

The tiny, wingless angel hopped down from the bench hurriedly, almost tripping over his own feet as he rushed over. The older angel took his hand to lead him out of the room, and they moved to a smaller chamber – one that had a warmer feel to it with some sort of feathery nest in the centre. Castiel lay down as soon as he had the chance, stripping free of his shirt-thing to make himself more comfortable with a sense of thrill pulsing into the connection.

Things went black after that.

 

*

 

Castiel awoke to the predictable ache in his back and a heavy weight against his shoulders, so he rose up on his hands and knees, sitting back on his heels and craning his head to see what his wings looked like. He froze at the sight of the glossy black, watching the wings unfurl at his command to examine the dark feathers. They had very light blue tips and they gleamed beneath the nursery candlelight as they ruffled in excitement.

Castiel stood up, stretching them out as far as they could reach before he beat them down toward the feather down floor and was lifted from the ground. Their muscles surprised Castiel with their strength and adeptness, considering the short time they’d been a part of him. 

He cried out in delight as he was lifted higher, the blue glowing and giving off a pleasant aura.

They were  _perfect!_  

Castiel dropped to the ground again, sitting down and pulling a wing across his chest to stroke through the dark feathers. He’d never heard of another angel having black wings, but he was glad. It meant he’d be different like Joshua and Inias – it meant he was  _special!_

Did this mean he’d be given a different job to that of a guardian or healer? Would he spend his future keeping records and teaching others?

He didn’t mind – he didn’t care which Garrison he was assigned to so long as he could still spend time with Anael. She had already been allocated the task of joining the healers so she would be spending most of her hours on earth tending to those who required help most.

Castiel looked over to the doorway as he waited for his carer to return, hugging his wing closer and smoothing down the few crooked feathers he possessed. They were warm to the touch, and he liked how natural they felt now that they had been freed. He liked them.

He liked them a lot.

He continued to pet his wings over the hour that followed, uncomfortable with how long he was having to wait. Anael had told him that Joshua hadn’t left her side for the entirety of the process, so being without his carer’s company was really beginning to worry him.

He clambered to his feet, wobbling a little as he adjusted to the weight on his back, before padding over to the entrance. It was difficult with his wings weighing on his shoulders, but he knew it wouldn’t take too long to get used to them. He’d already managed to fly once already, so there shouldn’t be any further issues.

Castiel knew he probably shouldn’t wander the halls without his carer to guide him, but he could remember the path they had taken to arrive so it wasn’t too puzzling. And he could hear the hushed tone of voices – picking out Joshua’s above the rest.

He peered round the corner until he was staring into the Great Hall. Joshua was standing in the centre with three angels before him. Castiel had never seen them before – they all had gold in their feathers and large wings.  _Several pairs of wings, at that!_

Were these the Sacred Ones?

Castiel decided not to rush into the room, aware that he could get in serious trouble for interrupting their meeting. He’d been reprimanded only a week ago for listening in on Zachariah’s conversation with Anael when they had discussed her future in heaven, even though Anael had specifically  _asked_  him to stay in the first place so it wasn’t really fair. He should have run away when Balthazar had left, but he’d wanted to meet with his companion once the conversation had ended. She had promised to do the same when it came to Castiel being assigned a Garrison too.

“Castiel, we know you’re there,” a deep voice boomed, and Castiel wound his wings around his chest, lowering his chin so he could hide his face in his feathers. “Come over here.”

Castiel rounded the corner slowly, walking in and clasping his wings ever tighter around his form. There were whispers amongst the Sacred Ones at this and several shared looks between them. Castiel looked up at Joshua when he neared his side, but the older angel refused to look down at him, recoiling when Castiel reached out for his hand.

Castiel couldn’t help feeling annoyed, his wings ruffling in his hold as he pulled back, stepping to the side so not to anger his carer any more. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong. Joshua looked upset and it was beginning to scare him.

He jolted at the prodding of something sharp in his left wing, stumbling backwards until he fell to the ground. The Sacred angel with the darkest wings was staring at him, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he reached out the odd pointy-stick again, piercing the flesh of Castiel’s wing fully. Castiel cried out, writhing as he tried to free it from the sharp pain, only for the instrument to tear into his skin further.

“Well, his pain receptors seem to be working fine. There’s apparently no problem with that,” the angel chuckled, ripping the pointy-stick away with a slightly wet noise so that Castiel could begin to heal the wound.

He didn’t like the dark-winged Sacred One.

“So what is it then? His parents were healthy enough. His wings should be no different to theirs.”

Castiel also didn’t like hearing the others talk about him, but he knew better than to speak out of turn. Instead, he cradled his previously damaged wing, stroking the area where the wound had just been. He wished they hadn’t been damaged so early on in their exposure. Castiel hadn’t expected them to come to any damage at all – not unless he was expected to fight in a war of some kind.

“Well, maybe these are simply his birth colour. There have been cases in the past where angels were born with different col –“

“Yes, but none of them had  _black feathers_ ,” dark-wings hissed. “He’s unnatural, and I think it’s appalling that the both of you are okay with the idea of him breeding this disgusting abnormality.”

“He’s just a fledgling, Raphael. There’s no need to be so cruel.”

Castiel was lost. He didn’t know what they were talking about now, even if it did revolve around him. All he wanted was to go find Anael and show her how unique his wings were.

He hid his face when the golden-haired Sacred One cleared his throat. “You may go back to your chamber now, Castiel. Joshua will be with you in a moment.”

Castiel rose to his feet hurriedly, scurrying out of the room until he’d made his way back to the nursery. He collapsed onto the feather down again as he prepared for yet another wait. 

It wasn’t too long before Joshua rounded the corner with that same disappointed face, almost like Castiel had done something wrong; like he’d offended the elder in some way. Castiel would never intend to hurt the angel who had cared for him since the beginning, let alone anyone else who treated him with the same pleasantness. 

“You’re free to go out in the Gardens now, if you wish,” Joshua murmured. 

“Thank you,” Castiel smiled, jumping to his feet excitedly. Excitement turned to confusion when the older angel simply nodded, leaving the room and heading in the opposite direction of the Gardens, his Grace shrouding his figure with that golden glow. It was very subtle, but in the shadows it became more obvious, and Castiel watched it with envy. He was pleased with his own wings, but he'd always wanted his Grace to appear as impressive as Joshua's was, knowing full well that the more attractive his Grace appeared, the more likely the chance he had of pairing himself with another angel.

But Castiel had always headed out to the Gardens with his carer. He wasn’t used to heading out on his own.

Maybe this was him finally being trusted. Maybe Joshua thought him responsible enough to go wherever he pleased now that he had wings.

The excitement returned, and Castiel rushed to leave the nursing chambers, making his way outside within a few seconds of being granted the permission to do so. He didn’t see anyone on his way to the Tree of Life, but he didn’t mind, happy to feel the slight breeze brush through his feathers like fingers as he stopped beside the golden pond. 

He’d always found this spot relaxing, and it always made him think of what it would be like to be a guardian. Watching over a human sounded fun, and the soul-shards were pretty. Here at the pond, some of the oldest soul-shards made up the lining, glittering with the life energy of those who now resided in Heaven. Castiel had always wondered how the pond would look in the dark, but he couldn’t alter the atmosphere of everlasting sunlight, so he always abandoned the thought. Now that he had wings, however, and now that his Grace had been unveiled, he would be able to control the orbs’ intensities whilst shrouding them from the light with his feathers.

So he did just that, smiling to himself as he encased the nearest part of the pond in shadow and reached out to touch one. The light shone brightly in the slight darkness, making him feel more relaxed than he’d ever been around the pond before. Being a guardian  _would_  be fun if he could make the orb of a soul look as pretty as the golden one beneath his palm.

“Those are your wings?!”

Castiel jolted, drawing away abruptly from the pond and rising to his feet as he glanced over at his visitor, an unsettling feeling tightening his chest. 

“Yes, Uriel. These are my wings.”

He was trying to be brave, but he felt vulnerable with no one else around to give him the comfort he wanted. Castiel looked down at the pond to ease himself, watching the soul-shards reflect on the golden waters. He didn't like it when the others joined him here. Castiel didn't own the area, but it was usually so deserted that he'd claimed it as his thought location: a place where he could think without being bothered.

Especially by the likes of Uriel.

"Did your birth-mother breed with Lucifer, or is this solely God's dislike for you?" Uriel spat, and Castiel felt the pain explode in his left wing. He glanced down to see blood oozing from the shallow wound and he looked up at Uriel with uncertainty.

"Excuse me?"

Another rock came hurtling his way, striking him in the forehead and he stumbled backwards into the reeds, hands grasping the damaged plant stems.

"Your feathers are black, Castiel," Uriel continued, backing away. "They're the colour of _sin!"_

Castiel touched the broken skin at his temple, feeling the wetness beneath his fingertips as he attempted to heal the damage. It didn't hurt as much as what the dark-winged Sacred One had done to him before, but the wound was dirty, something of a grit buried in his flesh.

"I haven't done anything wrong."

His argument was weak, but he knew it was true. He always followed orders and he never complained about his duties, no matter how difficult they were for an angel of his size and age. There was nothing wrong with his wings - they were perfect, and they were his.

Besides, they were more appealing than the dark green taint Uriel had to his own wings. At least Castiel's Grace was of a pleasant colour.

"I've never heard of - or seen - anything so disgusting in all my days of living!" The angel snarled, pelting Castiel with yet another jagged stone. Castiel was unsure of how to respond. Uriel was much older than him, and he had training in the art of combat, so Castiel shrouded himself from view, concealing his form as he sought out a means of escape. 

He used his wings to lift him high into the air, and he came to a stop on the highest branch of the tree, coiling his arms around the thick wood to keep him steady as he healed all his wounds. He didn't understand why Uriel was saying such harsh things, but he didn't like being treated like that. Not when he hadn't done anything to hurt his brethren in the first place.

“You coward,” Uriel called, and Castiel pulled his wings over his head to muffle the shouts aimed in his direction. He wanted to talk to Anael for assurance – surely she wouldn’t think that his feathers were disgusting?

It shouldn’t really even matter, because Castiel didn’t see her for her wings, so she should do the same in return.

 

*

 

Dean could feel the anger warm his face as he watched the way Uriel continued to stalk around the tree, almost like he was waiting for Castiel to become too weak to hide himself anymore. 

He could sense how confused Castiel was, and more importantly: scared. Castiel didn’t know why the others had begun to treat him so differently – especially Joshua, because Cas had already started picking up on the odd behaviour. He was smart, even for some five-year-old squirt, but he didn’t deserve this at such a young age. He didn’t deserve this  _ever._

Even though Castiel was blocking pain from him, Dean could still imagine the feeling of such an injury, and he couldn’t help but cringe. No kid should have to deal with that sort of shit.

And over the next few days of Castiel’s life, it just seemed to get worse.

The other kid angels he’d shared a nursery with had been told to keep away by some smarmy Zachariah bastard, so Castiel was isolated in a separate room whilst he waited to be given some sort of job title. 

Dean didn’t understand how any of this was fair, forcing the young angels to work a certain job for the entirety of their lives – especially when it wasn’t even their decision. 

And their lives were so damn long! This Joshua guy, according to Castiel’s little telepathy wave, was around nine-hundred and something – almost a thousand, and angels didn’t even go to sleep, so that was one thousand years of consciousness right there.

But yeah: even Joshua was no longer acknowledging Castiel’s presence, avoiding communication and touch as he steered around the tiny fledgling to cater to the needs of the others. It left Castiel worried that he’d done something wrong – more so when that Anael girl asked him why he had been cursed – and it was breaking Dean’s heart to see how much saying that fucked with the way Castiel felt. 

It was pretty damn obvious that Cas liked her ... then again, Dean could hear every slight thought and response that Castiel didn’t voice in her presence. Sure it was a little weird, because Dean definitely remembered Cas calling her his sister at some point or another, but Dean didn’t even understand that aspect because Cas had also said kids were taken away from their parents when they were born.

It hurt, more so when he remembered how cheerful a front Cas had put on when they’d talked about it. 

And yeah, maybe it did make Dean a little uncomfortable at the thought of Cas crushing on someone else, but he was entitled to like other people, and this was the past anyway. He knew that Cas  _loved him_ , and that was way stronger than some temporary infatuation. 

And Cas had had to sit through all of Dean’s past relationships, so he shouldn’t have even been thinking about it like that.

He could feel Castiel’s humour wash over him, and he’d  _completely_  forgotten that Cas was still able to read his mind whilst he was being shown everything. It was weird having two versions of Castiel’s feelings fill his form, even if the one from the present dissipated relatively quickly, slipping back into the thoughts and opinions of Castiel’s younger self.

But anyway, after what Anael said, it only unsettled Castiel even more. The angel thought that everyone was overreacting, given that they’d never found an issue with him before.

They were overreacting! No one should be forced into seclusion because they were different, and to take away everything that had previously made Cas happy was so fucking unfair! If Castiel had hurt someone, or caused them sickness, then yeah, maybe he did need to be segregated for a while, but he hadn’t and that’s what pissed Dean off more than anything.

They genuinely had no reason for it.

Days passed, and people’s attitudes toward him just seemed to get crueler. It was like they didn’t even care that he was a child, throwing things at him if he walked past and calling him names; and the thought that Castiel’s parents were wandering around somewhere, oblivious to the fact that they were harming their own fucking child made Dean feel sick. If they’d have known him – if they’d have been allowed to keep him – then maybe he would have been protected. His parents could have loved him, and sheltered him, and made his life fucking bearable, because this? This was Dean’s depiction of hell. There was nothing angelic about the way the others spat on Castiel when he was sitting by the pond, or the way they openly mocked everything he did without fear of being scolded. This was beyond any of the bullying Dean had seen or heard of in the past, and he genuinely hadn’t thought it would have been this bad – especially when Castiel was at such a young age.

_He had put up with this for over four-hundred years!_

It seemed that the only people that actually treated him like he was normal were two of the archangels. He’d known about Gabriel already, but this Michael guy was the one who assigned angels to Garrisons. He was the one who gave Castiel the title of  _‘Guardian’_  one full week after his wings had been unsheathed. It was probably the happiest Dean had seen the guy since the start of his abuse, and it was over work. Sure, he got that Castiel had kind of hoped he’d get to be a guardian, but it showed just how crap things had become for him. Work was all he would have to look forward to, and even then, Michael had said it would be a while before Castiel actually got to watch over anyone.

He had to go through some kind of training first anyway.

It was kind of like school, a batch of newbies tutored by the archangel who, as Castiel told him, ‘personally cast Lucifer to hell’.

Dean was just grateful Michael didn’t put up with anyone badmouthing Castiel in his presence. It definitely made Castiel’s work ethic all the more enthusiastic, and he was learning how to care for a human child within a few days; taught about happiness, anger, and sadness, and how he could control these emotions with a simple tap to a soul-shard’s surface. It was pretty interesting to watch, actually, especially when he could see how much Castiel was enjoying it.

They had this other thing called the ‘universal mist’ that allowed them to watch over their charge wherever they were. It was basically a cloud version of a teletubby, hovering beside them whilst the view of their human played out within it.

It took Castiel a while to get his assigned mist to follow him around, still attempting to figure out how to work his Grace properly, but he was great; rotating the scene and zooming in and out with ease – Cas was handling it really well!

Castiel was seventy-four when he received his first member of charge, what with the whole connection having to be perfect for the human to react properly to their future emotional alterations (it sounded so damn sophisticated, and Dean felt weird simply trying to phrase it in his mind). The whole aging process of angels was completely messed up, because Cas looked exactly the same as he did now, and he’d been that way since about the age of seventeen. Well, he’d gotten more muscular over that time, what with learning how to fight and all; just in case they needed him for war. It wasn’t just the dudes – even the girls were being trained for combat from the age of about twenty.

Anyway, Castiel’s first human was a girl, Claire, and she was from some town in France. Dean wasn’t good with the whole geography sides of things, but she lived close to a beach, and her family didn’t seem to be dealing too great with the conditions in which they had to live. After being shown her predicted future, Dean knew that things were only going to go downhill as her life progressed, owing to the fact that guardians were shown how exactly the life of their charge ended. Her death wasn’t a choice she had made herself, more so a result of the choices she had made prior, but if Cas didn’t change things for her, she was basically going to end up working in a brothel in some fancier part of the country to earn her keep, abused and mistreated until she became too weak to do anything anymore.

Suddenly the job wasn’t as appealing as Michael had made it out to be in the training sessions.

But Cas did well – really well, in fact. He protected her from illness and injury until the age of eighteen when her parents died, and at the point where she was considering the possibility of selling herself, he guided her down a different alleyway that night, where she encountered someone who would change her life for the better. The man she met offered her a place to spend the night, providing her with food and shelter for the winter months that followed, and in spite of Dean initially thinking that Cas was an idiot for letting her leave her former home in the late autumn, Claire  _had_  been saved. Dean could feel the surge of joy from Castiel when the man proposed to her, promising her wealth and happiness till the end of her days, and yes, it was sappy, but Dean thought it was sweet of the angel for making her life so much better. It was incredible just how much it had changed in comparison to the prediction, and Cas was quite blatantly proud of himself; his dark wings fluttering with excitement as he stared into the universal mist.

Castiel liked having a purpose. He liked making people happy.

Being a guardian really was perfect for him.

Castiel continued to watch over the girl until the end of her days, making sure she was happy and healthy, and apparently overlooking the pink in her soul whenever she was around her husband. Cas  _had_  to have known what it meant when he’d seen the relationship play out in front of him – especially since the pink was a slow developing colour, easing its way across the soul-shard as the days went by. It wasn’t quite as pink as Dean’s own soul-shard (which shouldn’t have made him so pleased, but it totally did) but it covered at least half of the orb, light in colour as it may be. It was still beautiful, and Castiel’s continuous surge of pride practically added to its value.

When Claire did eventually pass on, Castiel housed the soul-shard in his room, storing it on a shelf with his weaponry and the like. Castiel’s room was very bare aside from the few things he owned. Other than the shelving, there was only a desk and a chair; the desk was decorated with neatly organised sketches of Claire and her family, and Castiel gathered them together, storing them in a binder with something like a written report before it was taken away to a storage unit. Dean could still sense Castiel’s pride for the few hours that followed – with the knowledge that he’d made someone’s life considerably better – and the angel sat beside the golden pond, looking down at its waters. 

It reminded Dean of the lake, in the sense that going out there pretty much instantaneously made him feel relaxed, so he got why Cas liked coming here so often. 

It was nice. The quiet and seclusion seemed to have a positive impact on the angel, filling Dean's own form with that feeling of utter bliss, and yes, it was odd, but being able to feel exactly how content Castiel was made the gesture of simply sitting on a grass bank all the more enjoyable.

 

*

 

Castiel drew his knees up to his chest, taking a deep breath as he smiled to himself. He felt oddly satisfied, although somewhat lonely now that he had no one to care for. Claire had been an easy first assignment, and Castiel was glad that he had managed to actually make her happy. He'd been a little doubtful at first, knowing that failure of such a task would only worsen his reputation, but Claire's emotions were fairly simple to manipulate, and even though he wasn’t particularly skilled at manipulating the world around her to begin with, he was definitely more than confident in his ability now.

He settled back, placing his arms behind him as he looked up at the sky, watching the false atmosphere drift overhead. He knew it was meant to be a replica of the earth, but knowing he could never see what it looked like in the evening time was fairly disappointing. Heaven couldn’t replicate the galaxies said to be visible from earth, and Castiel wasn't permitted to visit. Not at his age. Only the most mature angels, in addition to the healers, were allowed to travel to the planet, and even if Castiel should come of age, it was highly unlikely that anyone would speak in his favour should he request such a thing.

“Oh, look who it is.”

Castiel turned his gaze back to the pond as the shadows crowded around him, not wanting to appear fearful or worrisome in their presence. They would only tease him more if he was to show it, regardless of whether they already suspected he felt as such.

He’d been without this torment for a while, what with having to watch over a human for the past fifty-two years, but there had been a few occasions where is brethren had mocked his ability to aid the child through life, in addition to the regular name-calling and desire to inflict physical damage upon his form. It was as if no matter what he did, he would never be good enough to be treated as an equal, and it was frustrating because he had never attempted to antagonize them as some sort of instigation. He’d done absolutely nothing to deserve this kind of treatment, and he didn’t have the power to stop it.

“I hear the human didn’t last very long in your care. Not off to a good start, are you, Castiel?”

"Her body was weak. Straining her would have caused suffering,” he answered coldly, leaning forward to wrap his arms around his knees. He had done what was best for her, and by doing so, made sure the end to her life was a pleasant one. She had passed in her sleep after falling ill, and although it wasn't a particularly harmful illness, her immune system had not been working in her favour. It would have required a lot of effort on both Claire's part and his own in order to make her completely well, and her body simply wasn't up for it.

Castiel glanced at the angel standing nearest to him, frowning and pressing his chin to his knee caps. Hester had that smug look on her face - one that was leering on intimidating - and although she occasionally smiled at him, conveniently when no one was around to see, she was just as cruel as the angels she spent her days with. If anything, the false gentleness made her actions seem even worse.

"Raphael isn't very happy with you," Hester told him, making a few of the others laugh. "He'd expected her to last at least another ten years or so in your care."

Castiel turned his head to look at her fully in confusion. For starters, he was doing as Michael had asked: no unnecessary strain on the human form; so he had done his job correctly. And anyway, it wasn’t any of Raphael's business! He didn't run the Garrison!

Castiel wasn’t prepared to be reprimanded for something so unnecessary, so he pushed up onto his feet, a few of the angels jerking away as his black wings swept out behind him. He had no intention of hurting them, no matter how harshly they treated him, and besides: he had more important things to worry about than harming his brethren.

But no sooner was he sturdy on his feet was he being shoved forward harshly, smashing his skull on the soul-shards as he tumbled into the pond. He could see the blood cloud in the golden water as he went under, and his wings flailed beneath him, catching on the shattered orbs from the impact. 

Castiel began to struggle, his wings weighing him down as he tried to surface for air. His head was throbbing and the sting was reverberating around his skull, making it incredibly difficult to focus on anything other than the sharp pain.

He gasped when he finally raised his head from the pond, scratching at the reeds as he tried to drag himself onto the bank, and the laughter erupted around him, adding to the pain in his cranium. 

"Look at him. He should have been cast down years ago."

"He shouldn't have been trusted with the life of a human. Not if they're all going to die early."

Castiel choked as he hauled himself onto the grass. "Claire didn't die early! She had reached the end of her time!"

The blood reddened his vision, running down into his eyes from the fracture on his forehead and the laughter only seemed to increase in volume.

"Try telling that to Raphael, you disgusting wretch!"

Castiel didn't want to think about any such conversation with the archangel. Raphael wasn’t exactly pleasant company, and he was never satisfied with anything Castiel did.

That probably explained why he was so displeased with Castiel’s first attempts at caring for a human.

Castiel continued to heal himself, wiping at his eyes to clear his sight before attempting to dry his body with his Grace. The others were still laughing, even if they were walking away from him now, and Castiel scowled, clearing his throat and settling back on the grass to gather his thoughts. 

Why was it him? Why did it always have to be him? 

Castiel had never spoken ill of anyone else, and he'd never intentionally harmed them, yet they all acted as if his presence offended them; like his being there physically harmed them. Sheathing his wings did nothing to help, and even the fledglings were frightened of him regardless of whether he did so or not. 

He couldn’t win.

 

*

 

Castiel hadn’t expected to receive a new member of charge four days after his previous, but he was glad it happened, shutting himself in his chamber as he stared down at the soul-shard before him. He would do better this time – they would live a long life like Raphael wanted, and they would be just as happy as Claire had been.

Castiel didn’t want to disappoint the archangel again, even if he had worked to the best of his ability.

Michael had summoned him earlier, and now he had a new watch: a boy named Edward. He was quiet although relatively outgoing, yet Castiel didn’t feel the same attachment that he had to Claire. Maybe it was simply because he was worried about being reprimanded for a second 'failure', but it just didn’t feel right. It was lacklustre and weak - almost as if they shouldn’t have been compatible at all. They didn’t feel  _connected._

"Michael, are you sure this child is suited to my care?" Castiel had asked, watching the boy's future death play out in the universal mist.

He could see the archangel stare across at him, from the corner of his eye. "Do you not think yourself worthy of watching over him?"

Castiel shook his head, bringing a palm up to his chest as the faint tug barely made itself known. "That’s not what I mean. The bond isn’t ... it doesn’t feel  _strong."_

"He’s matched to your talents, Castiel. We haven’t made a mistake."

"But he doesn’t feel like a part of me. What if I can’t care for him like I could Claire?" He pressed, facing the archangel in distress. "I was told Raphael wasn’t best pleased with my last effort, and I don’t want this child to suffer if the bond isn’t enough to support his emotional alterations."

The archangel sighed, his wings ruffling. "Not every member of charge will be easy to manipulate - I've told you this before. You need to  _try_  and make it work."

And now Castiel was faced with a different kind of problem: the soul-shard refused to cooperate; the colours of the orb dark, signalling that the boy was miserable and discontent. It was infuriating, and Castiel huffed, forcing as much energy as he could into the orb to instigate a positive reaction.

He’d expected  _something_  owing to the amount of power he'd just sacrificed for a change to occur, but this was awful. Even in his training he’d managed to alter emotions without a bond connecting him to the participant so this was most unsettling. There shouldn’t be anything wrong if they truly were meant to be bonded together, and Raphael would be furious if Castiel ruined this human's life. 

Castiel was still awaiting the archangel, understanding that an 'early death' such as Claire's probably was a concern, and although Castiel tried to ignore most of what was said to him, this was another instance where he simply couldn’t rid his brethren's words from his thoughts.

He didn’t want to think about such a thing, but he couldn’t help it, and now he had yet _another_ thing to worry about _:_  a faulty companionship where Castiel couldn’t even alter the reality around his human charge. He wasn’t useless, and he was sick of being told as such, yet this incident would only worsen Castiel’s reputation. The others would never let this go - they wouldn’t see that he genuinely could look after someone; that his ability was just as good as the next angel's.

He wanted to prove that he wasn’t flawed in the slightest.

Castiel pushed back his chair, resting the soul-shard in the crook of his arm as he made his way out of his chamber. The halls were clear, and it didn’t take him long to make his way to the Tree of Knowledge. He could see Michael's silver wings through the window of the grotto, and he walked over as fast as he could, rapping on the door as he waited to be invited in.

"Castiel."

Castiel turned around hurriedly, drawing his wings close against his back. "I-I came to speak to Michael. It’s very important," he blurted, daring a look over his shoulder to see if Michael had come to let him in.

"And I came to speak to you, Castiel. You weren’t in your room."

Castiel hugged the soul-shard to his chest as he glared down at Raphael’s shoes. Eye contact with the archangel always made him uncomfortable, and knowing that they were due a long conversation made things even worse.

“From what I understand, you had an issue with my last charge,” Castiel grumbled, continuing to stare down at the floor.

“I had no issue with your charge,” Raphael said slowly, dragging out the words like he was deriving pleasure from each one. “My issue lies with you and the way you cared for her.”

Castiel had done no wrong when looking after Claire. If anything, he had been overly generous with his affections in comparison to everyone else, just to make sure that she truly was satisfied as much as possible. He’d made certain that the yellow shone bright, monopolising the orb’s surface.

He clenched his jaw at the memory of her peaceful last day, laying in bed with her children around her, happy that her family was with her for the few remaining hours of her life. She had not suffered, and her body had been growing tired regardless of the Grace Castiel had spent on her. It  _had_  been her time to pass.

“And what, exactly, did I do wrong?”

Raphael made a noise of disgust. “I would have thought that even  _you_  would have picked up on such dire mistakes.”

Castiel could feel the surge of annoyance build up inside him because Raphael was making Castiel feel utterly ridiculous, in spite of the knowledge that he wasn’t stupid, and that he hadn’t done anything wrong. If that had been the case, surely  _Michael_  would have addressed the issue, what with him running the Garrison for the most part.

Castiel straightened up, meeting Raphael’s line of sight directly as a bolt of courage scored through his form. “I mean no offense when I say this, sir, but it’s actually none of your business as to how I treated her.”

The archangel’s smile slipped and his eyes reflected an expression that was borderline livid, yet Castiel held their eye contact fearlessly; knowing that he’d addressed a valid point.

Raphael bent low, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. “I suggest you mind your tongue around me,  _Castiel,”_  he hissed, wings flaring wide to cast shadow over the entirety of Castiel’s stance. “Unlike the other two, I do not  _pity_  your disfiguration, and if at any point I deem you at all threatening to those in your Garrison, or in your care, I will not hesitate to toss you in the pit. Do I make myself clear?”

Castiel found himself temporarily frozen, unsure of how to respond.

He wasn’t at all threatening – the others were threatening. They made Castiel feel threatened all the time, yet he never retaliated or responded with violence.

But he managed to nod, looking back down to Raphael’s shoes as the regret and anxiety kicked in, drowning his thoughts with more worries and risks, because no matter what he did, Raphael would be sure to find fault.

 

 


	15. Twisting Allegories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh. i might've taken all my anger out on cas in this chapter, but i'm so fucking disappointed with myself at the moment and i guess i made the characters suffer through all my crap with me

Fixation or psychosis?  
Devoted to neurosis now  
Endless romantic stories  
You never could control me

Well I never really thought that you’d come tonight  
While the crown hangs heavy on either side  
Give me one last kiss while we’re far too young to die

_Panic! at the Disco_

 

 

"I ... I can’t do it."

"There’s nothing else you can do. This is the only way."

Castiel looked down to the orb in his hands; the grey mass swarming with dark shades of blue and blotches of white, indicating utter upset and distress. The child was ill, and at this rate, he wasn’t going to survive.

"I don’t want to kill anyone."

Michael sighed, taking the orb from his hold carefully. "You’re not the only one having to do this. Ion had to end a life yesterday, and Hael has had this issue twice now. You need to know that this is a means of aiding the child, rather than harming it.”

"But Raphael -"

"Will not say anything untoward. He understands the problem and it has nothing to do with fault. There isn’t any need for worry."

Castiel nodded, pushing a hand through his hair before adjusting his shirt. It put him more at ease knowing that he wouldn’t be scolded for it, but he still disliked the idea of killing a human. Especially one that had been living for such a very short time.

The child's parents would be distraught.

"Is there a way I can do it without harm?" Castiel asked softly, shifting his weight to his left foot. He was becoming agitated without the soul-shard in his possession, and although he wouldn’t be able to do anything to actually help the boy whilst he held it, after caring for Claire, he was so used to an orb resting in the crook of his arm. It was a habit he would have to overcome, knowing that it was unusual for someone to receive a new member of charge so soon after the last, and he would try to occupy his time with something else.

But after what Michael had said - about there being other cases similar; instances where soul-shards were uncooperative and human lives were becoming forcibly shorter - part of him didn’t want another charge so soon. He didn’t want to experience the same issue again, and he most certainly didn’t want to have to kill them.

It was ironic: an angel granted the ability to extend the life of their human, yet when their 'tools' were faulty it made death near instant. Castiel couldn’t help but wonder if the bond between a guardian and their charge was the downfall of the human life. Surely if a prediction was foreseeable, that instance would be the definite cause of death.

Things could either go wonderfully right, or incredibly wrong, and if it was the latter, the human had to pay the price.

It wasn’t fair.

"It won’t hurt the boy. He will die peacefully in spite of the ill that has fallen upon him," Michael offered, rolling the orb weakly in his hands as if to inspect for damage. "As for you, however, it won’t be pain free. You need to sever the tie on your own."

Castiel nodded again, reaching out to take the soul-shard back. Michael handed it to him, expression stoic yet calm, and Castiel took a deep breath as he stared down at the gloomy orb of his charge.

He’d been instructed what to do back in his training should something like this ever be required, but he still felt reluctant to follow through.

He was about to murder someone's child, and no matter how easily the others may have done it, Castiel couldn’t help but stare down at it for a few moments more. He wasn’t concerned about the pain, or the loneliness that would follow, but he had looked forward to caring for someone new, even if their link wasn’t very strong.

He covered the top of the shard with his palm, dimming the light substantially as he pulsed his Grace over the surface tentatively. He was surprised by the sharp pain that bloomed in his chest, the harsh feeling like his lungs and ribs were being crushed as he surged the energy of his Grace into the soul-shard, barely catching sight of the crack that crawled over its surface. He bit down on the insides of his cheeks as the shard began to crumble in his hands, closing his eyes tight and willing the pain away as he let the pulses of energy resound throughout his own body.

There was a hand on his shoulder when he stopped shaking and the emptiness had returned to his torso, but he let out a sigh of relief, because as Michael had told him, he had done the right thing.

"I’ll send for you when your next charge is born," the archangel said swiftly, squeezing once before letting go and wandering back over to his desk. "Until that time I suggest you catch up on your training."

"Yes, sir," Castiel whispered, backing out of the grotto so he could return to his chamber.

He’d already heard the rumours - all the angels had. They had spread like wildfire amongst the garrisons and several parties had gone into a state of panic. Castiel had attempted to keep his calm, what with having a charge to look over, but now he found the slight disturbance probing at his thoughts. He had nothing to keep him from fighting now, and he was scared.

It wasn’t a fear for the battle itself, because he was confident in his abilities to fight and protect himself. No, it was more a case of the cooperation and teamwork aspects. He'd received enough threats over the past hundred years of his life to know that there were certainly a few members of his Garrison that would happily turn on him at any given chance, and he didn’t want to become paranoid that even those belonging to the same side would go out of their way to harm him instead of an enemy. Retaliation to such an attack would not be accepted, and owing to his ... abnormal wing colour, his view of events would most likely be ignored.

Sometimes he wondered if there was even any point fighting it. He rarely ever responded to threats or abuse, but still: he'd considered several solutions one time too often, and he hated it. He didn’t want to end up considering such ideals as _good_ decisions to make. Right now, he had to focus on other things. More important things. Things to do with battle, and demons, and the kind of charge he would have next.

It was thoughts like these that distracted him, and in a way, kept him sane. He didn’t let his mind wander, focusing solely on those three topics as he carried out his training regime. There was never anyone else around when he carried out his sporadic sessions, choosing a different weapon every time and constructing a new obstacle - a new enemy - to battle as he did so. Injury barely ensued, but it was hard to become hurt when you were facing what was essentially an inanimate object. There were instances where Castiel manoeuvred it, forcing it upon himself to make things more challenging, but it was dull. Things became less challenging, and even his thoughts dwindled to nothing more than an occasional reminder that there was a likely chance of a future battle, it became an insipid topic, and Castiel spent the majority of his days that followed simply travelling Heavens, drawing from his surroundings, completely aware that Michael could get in touch should any reliable information arise.

He visited Claire's Heaven first, having never thought about the opportunity before. He hid his wings from sight, making his clothing appear relatively smart, and he walked through her memories, admiring the view from a much more earth-like perspective. The sight of the usual atmosphere was a dire shame though, the sky remaining as bright as ever regardless of the time of day exhibited in Claire's imagery, but he’d forgotten just how intricate Heavens could be; tiny little worlds that were constantly changing, and Castiel found himself compelled to watch Claire's life play out before him again. He talked to her on few occasions, observing just how content she was watching her childhood repeat itself on loop, but there were times where he couldn’t help himself, talking to her about matters that perhaps shouldn’t have been discussed.

"They say there's a war coming," he informed her one day, sitting beside her in the garden of her more recent home.

"What kind of war?" She asked, tilting her head so her blonde hair draped over her right shoulder. Her appearance was young in this timeline, eyes bright and skin uncreased. Castiel thought she looked beautiful beneath the shade of the trees, pleased that even in Heaven her soul was bright and golden, lighting up beneath the blanketed shadows.

"I'm not too sure," he admitted, outstretching his legs as he leant against the bark of the trunk. "Right now, I can only see it as a rumour."

She nodded in acceptance, and Castiel looked out to the children playing just a short distance away, their words incomprehensible as the girl's mind filtered through other thoughts. Obviously, since the tie was broken, Castiel couldn’t really read her mind anymore, but he didn’t really feel the need to. There was nothing to hide, and the majority of her thoughts were displayed before them anyway.

"Is my family in danger?"

Castiel shook his head, glancing at her again. "No, and neither are you. Only angels can access these locations, and the war will not be fought on earth. They’ll be safe." He took in a sharp breath. "But like I said: it’s only a rumour."

She had smiled at that, but there was a certain hardness to her features like the carving of stone.

It hurt to know she still didn’t trust him.

On average, he visited her once a month, barely capable of holding a conversation without falling into some political debate, and Claire grew distant, almost unsure of his company. Yet again, Castiel could feel the loneliness envelop him with cold reminders and aspects of his past, encouraging worse thoughts of his future and the demise he could bring another human charge. He wondered if Claire knew that her death was Castiel's fault; he wondered if she knew about the ten more years she had been expected to last, able to spend longer with her children by her side.

Maybe Castiel deserved the guilt and seclusion.

Maybe he truly was cursed.

 

*

 

Dean had seen quite a lot of Castiel's history - a little over halfway now - but this whole conversation on war was a little excessive. Yeah, it might be threatening, but it wasn't like the angels were doing anything to prevent it. Some of them were training, and others, such as Castiel, had stopped bothering, but the actual rumour itself had been going around for about fifty years. They could have come up with some kind of battle strategy by this point, but they hadn’t. It was really starting to annoy Dean in a way he shouldn’t have found so irritating. Truth be told, he didn’t believe it, which was kinda why he was just as dismissive as Cas was, knowing that if it were serious, the angels would be prepared, and they probably would have sorted it out a while ago. But then there was that constant reminder that Cas was a _warrior_ , and to be classed as one of those, you definitely had to have fought in a battle; so yeah. He was sceptical.

Yet whilst everyone had spent fifty years or whatever fretting over this possible war, Castiel kept himself calm. Calm and isolated. In a sense, it was like Castiel had fallen into some kind of depression, avoiding everyone unless summoned, and that was hardly frequent.

But Castiel had changed. He spent hours staring down at his hands, drawing the bare minimum when he could be bothered, before slouching in the same spot for days on end. He waited for complaints or orders - practically anything to occupy his time. After all, Castiel had already re-sorted most of the guardian filings, after reading through the majority, and now he genuinely had nothing to do. No one wanted him around, and when he was, they only threw things at him.

It was the constant flow of thoughts that really put Dean on edge, though. When Cas had said he’d considered suicide before, Dean hadn’t realised he’d been considering it for so long. It was like, every topic his mind circled around came back to that factor of not being wanted, unable to convey his true potential no matter how hard he tried, and it had gotten to the point that Cas had carved into his wings in an attempt to change the colour of his feathers. They became crusted with blood, a dark shade of mottled brown, and just seeing the way Castiel had stared at them for literally _days_ before even thinking of cleaning them again had Dean on the verge of fucking tears.

This was _Cas_. Positive, smiley Castiel, yet everything he was seeing was the exact opposite. The Castiel here was virtually begging for his life to end, nothing but a fear of how his superiors would act should he actually take that step to prevent such a decision from coming about, and it _hurt_. The amount of fear he was generating wasn’t like anything Dean had felt before, because Castiel was genuinely beginning to think he was an abomination. He knew that the archangels could prevent his suicide should they be aware of such a thing, and Castiel was more worried about the humiliation and disgrace it would bring him should Raphael take control of the situation.

The others had already picked up on the way he was feeling, encouraging the thought with chants and jeering, so it wouldn’t be surprising if Raphael was already working on preventing the attempt. It was at this point that Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Cas really _had_ tried to. The guy could have quite easily skipped through it, because they were moving through his history at what seemed to be an ever-increasing rate.

He pushed the question to the front of his thoughts quickly, waiting patiently for a reply before the image flickered a little and Castiel was responding with a _‘no’_. The scene in front of them returned to normal as a few more years skipped past, and Dean concentrated hard as more and more comments were passed on the now-definite threat of approaching war.

He took a minute to think about what Castiel was currently going through as he received glimpses of training sessions with other angels, paying close attention to Castiel’s dead expression and the paler colour to his skin. Whether that was from his self-inflicted blood loss or not was a mystery, because he knew it had nothing to do with dietary needs, yet he wasn’t receiving that much bodily damage when he did occasionally spar with the others.

They were all so rough on him, lashing out with an assortment of weapons and cheering when he lost in battle. The thing was, Dean knew Castiel could fight – he’d seen the training Castiel had done on his own, but Castiel wasn’t even trying with these guys. He was practically throwing in the towel before the actual battle had even started.

Well, at least, that’s what Dean _thought_.

It didn’t take long before they were waging war, and the once green plains of Heaven were mutilated with ash and angelic corpses. The reason behind it wasn’t exactly that clear – Castiel had told him that the angels needed to protect the Tree of Knowledge because the fruit was special or something – but Dean was shown constant flashes of scenery, a severe clash of weapons shared amongst two apparent sides; angels and ...

Well, dean didn’t know what the fuck they were. They looked like people, but where their faces were it was like a crossover between Harvey Dent and fucking _Venom_. Dean had never seen anyone so fucking terrifying that hadn’t been drawn in a Goddamn comic book beforehand.

But the way they looked didn’t even begin to compare to the way Castiel was acting.

Castiel was slaughtering these things left, right and centre, carving out their throats when he got close enough and making their limbs explode whenever he touched them. Dean had honestly never seen anything like it, and he couldn’t help the nauseous feeling that rose in his chest.

When he’d thought about Cas killing people before, he hadn’t imagined anything further than an accident. Something he’d had no control over.

This was incredibly different, even if he was they were practically throwing themselves in his path.

They never stood a chance.

 

*

 

The scent of blood was heavy in the air, a sharp metallic tang that burned away at Castiel's sinuses. It was repulsive, causing a constant wave of uncertainty to rise in his chest as more and more of his brethren became fatally wounded and the screams of demons echoed over the vast green of the plains. They'd bought with them a certain darkness, land tainted by ash and filth wherever they set foot, and Castiel watched as his home became scarred with the waste of their corpses. He hovered beside the Tree of Life; it was his point of defence, regardless of the fact that no demon would ever be able to pass the barrier into the Heavens behind it. They would never even be able to harm the collected Grace from the tree itself, but Castiel was not about to refuse orders. Not when two of his kin had already fallen at their point of duty.

He dropped to the ground at the approach of yet another demonic creature, slashing at their eyes with his blade and kicking at their kneecap until he heard that reliable _crack,_ sending his opponent screaming to the ground. Their claws caught on his wings, tearing away several feathers, but he ignored it, driving the tip of his weapon through the crown of the demon’s skull. It gurgled at the impact, flesh crumbling away from its manifestation until it was nothing more than a cremation dusting his shoes.

He shook it off, striding around the remnant mound as another few abominations approached him. Castiel didn’t have the back-up he would have preferred, but he could work just as well on his own so it didn’t particularly faze him. And besides, it wasn’t like they tried to aid him should he need it. As of yet, they hadn’t acknowledged him at all; perhaps there was the odd glance should he cry out in pain, but other than that it was as if he wasn’t there.

They were only a short way away from him now, fighting their own battles beside the main garden, but he shouldn’t be focusing on them. Not when he was about to engage in another of his own.

Castiel wiped the blood of his latest enemy on the rough material of his pants, walking forward with assurance in his posture. Already he was planning how he could take them out, analysing their movements, their stances - anything that highlighted strengths and weaknesses. Blows to the chest and neck seemed wisest in this case, owing to the way his opponents left themselves wide open for attack as they rushed closer.

He defeated them with ease, using their utter stupidity against them and attacking them from behind, his blade slicing through the taut muscle of their backs to pierce their hearts, forcing the corpses away from him before they disintegrated onto more of his clothing.

There were screams coming through the thought transaction at this point in time, begs for help and support, seemingly reaching out for anyone in the near vicinity. Castiel scowled, trying to ignore them as more demons crowded around his post, obscure weaponry in their hands that Castiel had trouble defending himself from. His blade was too short for him to attack from the same distance unless he threw it. He didn’t want to risk one of the demons taking it for themselves should that be the case, and it would also leave him more vulnerable. He’d already wasted enough of his Grace on healing alone; he didn’t need to start using it as a weapon again either.

The screams overrode his current thoughts, desperation and the utmost pain seeping from every plea in a way that gave Castiel an odd sort of headache. He’d heard about this before, knowing that the angel must be in terrible amounts of pain to allow such feeling to cross with their intent, and Castiel looked around hurriedly for any further signs of attack before launching himself into the air as he sought out the member of his party in need. He didn’t care if he would be scolded for leaving his point of defence - not if someone required help this urgently. His brethren would just have to understand, unless they could hear it themselves.

Castiel didn’t really understand why he was being sent the plea. He didn’t think that his help would have been particularly appreciated, but that shouldn’t matter. He could address the subject after he'd aided them.

He flew higher into the air so it would be easier to avoid anything should something be fired at him. Enough of his kin had already been taken down through such a method, but they hadn’t exactly anticipated the demons to create an assortment of firearms capable of removing an angel’s wings entirely. It resulted in an inevitable death, the wings disintegrating just as the demons did when they were killed, whilst the angel bled out from the major arteries that had supplied the limbs with blood. It seemed that no amount of Grace could heal such severe damage.

So yes. Castiel was being as cautious as he possibly could. Someone was requesting his help, and he wasn’t going to let them die if something could be done to prevent it.

The plea quietened down a little, almost like the connection was weakening, and Castiel glided lower to the ground, concealing himself behind a collection of trees as he looked around for any obvious signs of distress.

He froze at the sight of Rachel dead on the ground, her eyes wide open and glazed over as she stared into the sky.

"Oh God ..."

Castiel turned toward the mumblings, dropping his weight lightly so the demon wouldn’t hear his approach.

"Oh God!"

The demon was clutching at his tear stricken face, clawing at the skin as he rocked beside Rachel's corpse. It reached out, touching at her cheek before it began to scream; pained shrieks scarred with blasphemy and curses as it pulled her limp body close, burying his face against her chest.

Castiel had never seen a demon react with such emotion - with such utter upset. It was more than an angel itself could possess, and at the understanding of how very much the demon had loved Rachel, he found himself feeling uncomfortable at the realisation that such a cursed creature was able to be more sympathetic than he could manage.

But he knew what had happened, and he couldn’t alter the past. He couldn’t prevent the war and the manipulation, and he couldn’t prevent the demon before him from impaling itself on the blade used to murder its lover.

Castiel could only pray there was enough Grace in the pitiful creature’s form to allow it to reside with Rachel in the Tree of Life.

But it wasn’t the cry of loss that had crossed into his mind; it wasn’t Rachel asking for back-up as she fought her bond-mate, nor was it the demon at the recognition of what he had done. The plea for help had started up in his head again, ringing in his thoughts, loud and brash.

Castiel could prevent _this_ death.

The connection seemed to strengthen when Castiel took a step forward, and he tucked his wings close to his back as he took off running, the breeze unable to lag his journey.

Blades tore at his limbs as he surged past, a few of his own kin lashing out instinctively as he barged through the slight battles nearer the Tree of Knowledge. He knew that he shouldn’t have been putting such a distance between himself and his initial point of duty, but this shouldn’t take too long. He could still help. He could still prove he was worthwhile; that he was just as important edition to the Garrison as those with white wings, and that he was more than capable of -

He grunted as he was forced to the ground, his left arm crushed beneath his chest as a body fell atop him. It was heavy and stiff, and it didn’t take long for him to realise that it was one of his own weighing him down. He blanched, feeling the wings twitch as the nerves played out temporarily in their last moments before turning to dust, and he struggled beneath the form hurriedly, his breaths coming faster as he began to panic.

The cry for help was still echoing loudly in his skull, and it was becoming weaker with every moment Castiel lay on the floor. He couldn’t help anyone in this situation, and he needed to calm himself. Fighting in such a state would only lower his defences and he couldn’t afford weakness when someone needed his strength, even if he would receive no thanks in return.

Castiel pushed up on his palms, dragging himself out and wincing at the numbness of his arm. His movements were unintentionally lethargic before he was on his feet again, sprinting off around the side of the library to strengthen the connection.

His ripped clothes were threading loosely, strips of cotton flapping irritatingly against his chest from early wounds, and he skidded to a halt in the empty plain, confusion twisting his insides when the voice simply stopped. He healed the damage made to his form earlier as he took a timid step back, looking over his shoulder at the battle still raging behind him. This is where the thoughts had come from, but there was no body, no evidence of bloodshed, and yet there was a certain iniquity to the area, like the ground was cancerous and damaging, and it was making him feel more unsettled than he had been those few moments prior.

That's when he heard the dull thump from the centre of the plain, followed by several more as he turned back to face those ahead. He let his eyes roam over the few angels, taking in their slumped figures and low-hung heads, before something sharp clamped down on either one of his wings, tugging him backwards harshly until they were pinned behind him. He cried out, jerking against the hold and wincing as several barbs dug into the more sensitive parts of his flesh, making his feathers feel wet and clammy, caught uncomfortably in the twisted steel. He glanced over at the puppetry of his brethren, staggering backward as he reached over to claw at his feathers, trying to rid them of the constraint.

There was a blow to the back of his knees and he crumpled to the floor, landing hard on his elbows and knocking his chin on the hard dirt. There was a metallic taste in his mouth from biting his tongue, but he healed the damage quickly, spitting out the blood as he pushed up again. He fumbled for the sword that had fallen from his grasp, swiping out as he rolled over to attack his assailant.

Three demons loomed over him, one kicking at his hand until he relinquished his hold on his weapon, and smiling at the distinct snap of a bone in Castiel's arm. Castiel tried to push the pain from his thoughts, scrabbling back until he was crouching and supported by his palms, the harsh jolt of agony scoring through the entirety of his right arm in spite of his urgent attempts to heal himself.

His Grace was weak from a lack of rest and he knew he shouldn’t be wasting it on a constant restoration of health, but there was just so much _pain._ His vision was spinning as he directed the energy to the damaged ulna and he took in a deep breath, hating how very weak and pathetic he must look in front of his kin.

His head snapped back at a kick to his jaw and he threw out a hand to prevent another kick from landing on his side, grabbing their ankle and jerking it in the opposite direction. His wings were crushing beneath his body, the barbs digging in harshly as he continued to push his form away from the demons, before he was finally on his feet and lashing out with his fists.

He focused on the taller one, dodging the blows of the two others before he had a hold on the demon’s arm, pulsing energy through to make the limb combust from within. It screamed, blood spurting from the wound hotly and burning the creature when it tried to cease the haemorrhaging, and Castiel turned on the other two, surprised to find them nowhere in sight.

"Castiel?!"

Castiel glanced around hurriedly until his sight landed on Balthazar, both worry and relief curling in his chest.

"Why have you abandoned your post?"

Castiel began to head over to him quickly, unsure of what exactly he could say. He hadn’t spoken to him since they were incredibly young, and he was genuinely surprised that the angel was even addressing him now.

But his surprise soon turned to anguish when a hand tugged harshly on his hair, and he cried out as he was pulled backwards.

"Nathaniel! let him go!"

Castiel jerked in the hold, reaching up to pull at the hand in an attempt to break free. It hurt, and it wasn’t the sort of pain he could heal without risking his health later on. He didn’t want to squirm too much in case he injured the angel behind him, because that would give them more of an excuse to hurt him.

But Nathaniel wasn’t letting go in spite of what had been asked of him, even though Balthazar was higher in power than the both of them, and Castiel could feel that bizarre ache in his gut at the sense that something was wrong. He’d noticed Nathaniel's stance before, in addition to the other two angels that were with them, and they had most definitely seemed different.

Castiel summoned his blade back to his hold slowly, locking eyes with Balthazar as the angel stepped closer. He didn’t know what to do and he was relying on his former nest-brother to make the first move; to guide him through this, even if they were no longer close.

"I’m not going to say this again, Nathaniel. Let Castiel go."

Nathaniel didn’t move away, but Castiel let out a yelp when the hand closed around his throat, pressing down on his trachea and cutting off his air supply forcefully. Balthazar reacted instantaneously, surging forward and punching Nathaniel in the jaw.

"What's wrong with you? I gave you an order!" Balthazar shouted, and Castiel broke free, elbowing out of Nathaniel's hold to stand at Balthazar's side. He put some space between them, owing to the fact that many angels thought him too repulsive to get close, and although his wings were trapped firmly to his back, he didn’t want to upset Balthazar any more than the angel already was.

The three angels before them remained still, eyes glazed over and arms hanging limply at their sides, and they truly did remind Castiel of the puppet Claire had played with as a child.

He looked around hastily for the demons, only to find the taller one lying on the ground, bleeding out slowly into the grass. It was worrisome to know that the other two were still absent because they could return at any given moment, and if he and Balthazar were not prepared, then they could be easily ambushed.

Castiel forced his Grace outwards, earning him a quick side-long look from his nest-brother before Balthazar was doing the same. So long as they kept their Grace radiating from their bodies, no matter how draining it would be should they do it for too long, then the demons could not touch them, and it gave them a certain protection for the time being.

"Why are they acting like this?" Castiel hissed, taking another step back when the female moved closer. He brought his blade up in defence, but he wouldn’t attack unless Balthazar gave him the order to do so. He would be severely punished for killing one of his own.

He looked at the angel beside him fleetingly, not wanting to take his eye off of the others for too long in case they went to hurt him again, but he became more panicked when he realised Balthazar didn’t know what was wrong with them either. How could they fight if this could be some temporary effect?

There was a brief shuffling behind them before the distinct voice of a child broke the uncomfortable silence.

"They're under my control, silly," she giggled, and Castiel jumped to the side so he could view either party with ease. Balthazar moved with him, his wings flaring wide in intimidation, and Castiel was ashamed to say he cowered behind Balthazar's stance for protection, still uneasy with his wings tied behind his back.

The demon pranced forward, her bright dress contrasting with the loathsome colour of her skin. She looked old, flesh grey and loose about her features, yet despite this her body was shaped into that of a young human girl. Someone so young could have never been condemned to hell, so she was clearly a master of witchcraft.

Castiel strained his wings against the binding again, clenching his jaw as the blood began to drip over his feathers.

Her eyes locked with his, and she grinned wide, her smile almost like an open gash on her face. "I’d stop that if I were you. Wouldn’t want to damage those pretty wings of yours."

Castiel could feel the shiver travel through his body, but he held her stare, desperate to conceal his weakness. He didn’t care for her opinion, even if the comment was meant genuinely.

He clenched his blade tighter, but still he didn’t look away. He would never admit that he was scared. No matter how much her expression said she already knew.

He needed Balthazar's guidance. It was obvious this demon was different to the others, witchcraft aside. He'd never seen one with white eyes before, and although white usually symbolised purity, there was absolutely nothing pure about her. Her aura gave off an even stronger malignance than that of the land she walked on, and it made everything all the more unsettling.

Not only that, but she claimed to be controlling the three angels, meaning that her abilities to conjure magic surpassed even that of the archangels.

How could they face her if she could quite possibly turn them all on each other?

Balthazar shoved him in the chest with one hand. "Go back to your station."

Castiel blinked before the panic was surging to the surface again. "I can’t just leave you here!"

Balthazar pushed him again, keeping his eyes focused on the demon. "I can take care of it."

"Are you sure about that?" The girl chuckled, and Castiel could see Balthazar stiffen.

He needed backup - it didn’t even necessarily have to be Castiel's aid, just someone who could offer assistance - especially since this demon was so very new.

And then there was the possibility of the other two demons returning in addition to the three angels before them, attacking Balthazar whilst he was trying to oppose the white-eyed girl. There were so many threats and Balthazar wasn’t taking any of them into account!

"Send for Michael, then," Balthazar hissed, shoving Castiel for the third time. "Now, Castiel!"

Castiel obeyed immediately, running as fast as he could to the main battle. His wings were aching, and it seemed no amount of Grace could stop it, but he pushed on, barging back through the way he came. He knew none of the archangels were fighting right now, what with them keeping the Tree of Knowledge sealed off with their energy, preventing the fruit from being taken from its branches. Obviously Michael's absence would lessen the strength of such a barrier, but Castiel would be more than willing to help defend it in his place. He already needed to make up for his absence at his initial point of defence, but maybe aiding the area that held what the demons sought would be more beneficial.

It wasn’t really his place to voice such things, so he didn’t intend to. He would stay if they asked for his assistance and leave should they wish him not to.

He skirted around the edge of the fight as he neared his objective, stumbling into the protected zone to an array of shouts.

"Get out of here, Castiel!"

"We don’t need you to aid us - just go back to your post!"

"N-no! Balthazar requested Michael's help!" Castiel blurted, wincing as the binding around his wings contracted. "The ... a white-eyed demon is controlling Nathaniel and several others!"

There was a pause, and Castiel glanced at the three angels nervously as they stood at the base of the tree.

"White eyed?" Gabriel mumbled, pushing a hand through his hair, but Michael was next to Castiel in a second, looking out to the battle as his six silver wings readied for flight.

"Where did you see this demon, Castiel?" He asked sharply, and Castiel was slightly startled by his tone, so used to Michael being the calmer one of the three. This demon clearly was something to be concerned about if Michael was acting in such a way.

"By the library," Castiel stated, turning back to step out of the protected area. "Down beside th-"

He cried out as he was yanked back by his arm, stumbling over the grass and swallowing his shout as his wings flared against the hold on instinct. The barbs pushed deeper into his skin, piercing the thinner areas of flesh with the abrupt force, and Castiel could hear the wet noise as the blood sprayed from the profound wound.

"Who did this to you?!" Gabriel yelled as Michael pushed himself into the air, soaring high over the fight below.

Castiel whimpered, trying to force the muscles in his wings to relax. "I think it was one of the demons," he offered, yelping when the barbs clamped down again. His Grace wasn’t doing anything at all to help and he didn’t know what to do now that the bleeding was constant.

"What? And you were happy to go back into battle with this cutting into you?" Gabriel questioned, touching gently just above the wound. Castiel jolted but Gabriel grabbed hold of his shoulders to keep him in place. "Just hold still so I can get the damn thing off."

"Gabriel!" Raphael snapped. "I’ve told you before about setting an example for the others! Leave Castiel be and focus on what's important!"

The archangel didn’t stop what he was doing, muttering quietly about some kind of stick and Raphael’s rear end.

Gabriel pressed down on the flesh around the clamp, trying to ease his fingers around it. "What the hell is this?"

Castiel clenched his jaw at the audible snap of the constraint, squeezing his eyes shut as Gabriel began to prise the metal from his wings. The archangel gave it a sudden tug and Castiel's wings ruffled themselves free, a harsh burn circulating the wound as his matted feathers peeled away from the bloodied flesh, and the pain died down considerably, even if he still couldn’t cease the bleeding.

"Thank you, sir," Castiel breathed, bowing his head when he turned around.

The archangel pushed him in the forehead, and Castiel could feel a burst of energy fire through his body, instantly healing the gouges in his wings. "It's Gabriel, not _'sir'_. I don’t understand this whole sir ideal. Just because Raphael wants to feel more superior than everyone el -"

"Gabriel," Raphael hissed. "Let the seraph return to his post!"

The golden haired archangel pulled a face, and Castiel attempted a smile, small as it was, before he was heading back over to the war ground. Raphael was right about him needing to return, and now that Gabriel had revived him, he felt more confident with his ability to fight. He took to the air, washing away the blood around his former injury until his feathers felt right again. It made him feel more comfortable in spite of everything that was going on around him, but he still couldn’t expel the worry from his gut when he remembered what he had been doing prior. He sincerely hoped Balthazar and the others were safe.

He touched down at the Tree of Life, cutting into a few demons as he did so and fanning his wings to knock them off their feet. There were a few grunts from the other angels as they acknowledged his return, but they didn’t complain or ask where he had been. He was grateful for their ignorance, glad that he wouldn’t have to explain himself or the situation on the other side of the battlefield. It would most likely only worry them and distract them from the fight here.

Castiel was trying very hard not to think about it himself, knowing that in spite of his regenerated power, if he lost his concentration the energy wouldn't be of any use.

Gabriel’s healing wouldn’t be in vain.

Castiel watched as the demons rose from the ground, their hideous faces twisted with hatred, and he readied himself for the attack, adjusting his grip on his blade. All he could do was fight now.

Several assailants later and Castiel was grimacing at the amount of blood on his clothes. He was saving his energy for a fatal injury because he didn’t have the chance to simply stop and rest, but it was almost like there was a decrease in attacks. Most of the battle was as focused in the centre of the plains as it always had been, but the demons were scarce in approaching the Tree of Life and in a way, it did allow Castiel to rest for a short period of time. He didn’t get to enjoy it, constantly on high alert for approaching danger, although he was slightly more relaxed without such a constant threat rushing toward him.

He took down the few that roamed toward him without sustaining any more damage to his form, and with every moment he was left alone, he could feel himself grow stronger.

That is, until he found his feet being kicked out from beneath him and he was forcefully shoved to the ground. He’d anticipated an attack like this some time ago, but he hadn’t expected it to be an angel.

He hadn’t expected it to be Balthazar.

Castiel stared up at him in confusion, taking in the slight grey tinge to his skin and the distant look in his eyes.

Just like Nathaniel.

He swallowed audibly as Balthazar crouched beside him, almost as if he was being examined, before his head was beaten to the side, his bottom lip splitting open on his teeth and the taste of blood filled his mouth once more.

But he remained still and compliant, refusal to hurt his former nest-brother cutting off any thoughts of doing otherwise. He would never hurt Balthazar, and if the white-eyed demon had been telling the truth before, then this was not Balthazar’s choice.

Balthazar had never struck him or thrown sharp objects at him, no matter how much he may have wanted to, and although Castiel wanted Balthazar to cease the violence, he wouldn’t retaliate in fear of harming Balthazar unintentionally. So Castiel closed his eyes, keeping his head to the side to make it as painless as possible mere moments before the second blow came. There was no use fighting, and in a way, the pain felt good. He welcomed it: the sting of broken skin and the ache of bruising, not bothering to heal himself because it would only be wasteful. This kind of damage wasn’t serious, and he could endure it.

But there were pulses coming through the thought transaction again; similar to the plea before yet completely different.

Pleas for a different kind of help.

_Kill me._

Castiel held his breath, allowing himself one burst of energy to heal with.

_Please, Castiel._

This was something he could never go through with. He didn’t want to ever kill any member of his brethren, regardless of how they’d treated him, and Balthazar had never been insulting or cruel. He’d kept away like he was asked as a fledgling, and Castiel understood. He really did. He would never defy orders himself.

It was the same as the case with Anael. They were only doing as they had been asked and they’d never treated him harshly like the others who had never been told as such. In a way, it was a form of kindness. They could have hurt him at any opportunity, especially since some of the superiors encouraged it, but they’d kept him free from the more painful aspect of having a closer member of brethren harming him.

He would never be able to hurt Balthazar, let alone kill him.

So he kept quiet, allowing Balthazar’s possessor to continue attacking him.

_This is an order, Castiel!_

"I can’t," he said softly, hissing as the skin on his cheek was broken and the wetness touched at his face.

_But she's going to kill you!_

Castiel began to analyse the situation in more depth, with full understanding that Balthazar had absolutely no control over his actions, and that if Castiel didn’t react soon, he was most likely going to die. It didn’t bring him the same sense of remorse as the thought of killing Balthazar did. He knew that whatever happened, no one would care about his resulting status. alive, deceased; neither mattered.

 _He_ didn’t matter.

Balthazar _did._

Even if Castiel put his gratitude side, he would still never kill one of the most important members of his Garrison. He didn’t care about the punishment aspect. It was the guilt, and it was hard enough knowing that he had taken a human life. He didn’t want to add an angel to the list.

"I don’t care," he voiced, yelping when the dual blades pinned his wings to the ground, slicing through the thinner muscle in the centre. He squirmed when the hand settled on his jaw, jerking his head so that Castiel's eyes locked with Balthazar’s empty ones. He was uncomfortable with the gesture, so used to the distance between himself and the others, and Castiel tried to pull away, pushing at Balthazar's arm to get him to relinquish the hold.

Did Michael know about this? Had he seen Balthazar when Castiel had informed him of the manipulation?

So many questions raced through his thoughts, making him more and more worried by the attack. The white-eyed demon could have possessed Michael too, for all he knew.

There was a joyous sound emitted from the centre of the garden as Balthazar's fingers began to dig into his jaw, nails cutting into his skin in an attempt to scrape it away. Castiel reacted this time, shoving harder as the angels burst from above the plantation and the screaming cut into the air; grating sounds of agony and anguish that was most assuredly a result of demonic pain. Castiel could feel the flutter of anticipation in his chest, an odd sensation that slowly curled into jubilance at the bright golden glow that enveloped the foliage in its warmth. The explosion came next, and both he and Balthazar cried out in unison as the blast made everything around them tremor, the atmosphere encompassed in bright light.

It lasted all but ten seconds before the warmth subsided and the land was overcome with silence. Castiel hadn’t even realised that he’d closed his eyes and he opened them hastily to see Balthazar lying beside him on the ground, surprised by the brightened grassland and ash-free soil.

He glanced around to see the rest of his brethren dropping their weapons and spreading their wings in exuberance. Castiel didn’t waste any time pulling the blades from his own wings, focusing his energy on the wounds to prevent any further bloodshed, and he sighed, collapsing back and basking at the utter normality of things.

 

*

 

The angels were summoned to a hearing practically an hour after the battle had ended, almost like the archangels didn’t care if they needed rest or not. Castiel and a few others were called to the centre of the room, Raphael striding forward and purposefully walking before them a few times. It was like the guy was analysing them, and Dean could feel the worry twist in his gut. After watching the whole thing – every gash and broken bone that Castiel had had to bear over the course of the past ... however many years – he didn’t want to see any more. Whatever Raphael was about to say or do would most likely be rubbing salt in a wound, and it gave Dean a more prominent reminder that this could definitely trigger something. Anything negative or cruel would only worsen his condition.

But Dean tried to concentrate on what was playing out before him, rather than what _could_ happen. He needed to remember that this was the past. This wasn’t happening now, and whatever it was would most certainly never happen again.

He would make sure of it.

One by one the angels were addressed, only Dean couldn’t make out a single word of it because Castiel was panicking so much. His mind was a jumble, thoughts overlapping and collaborating, But it all came down to one thing:

_What did I do wrong?_

Things only seemed to get worse when Raphael came to a halt in front of him, all the others having been dismissed to join the thousands that swarmed behind him, and just like that the thoughts stopped. Silence ensued. Utter, unadulterated silence.

Dean held his breath.

"Please state the reason why you abandoned your post," the archangel demanded calmly, although there was a slight smirk to his lips and Dean wanted nothing more than to stab him in the fucking chest.

Castiel adjusted his posture, meeting the archangel's gaze and holding it. "I received a call for help and went to aid the one in need."

"But from what I understand, you did not aid anyone when you got there. Would you care to tell me the real reason as to why you left?"

"Th-that is the real reason, sir. The plea for help was sent to me through the thought transaction. I myself thought it was odd to receive such a request bu -"

"Yes, it was odd," Raphael interrupted, his wings trembling behind him. "More so considering the fact that you were seen conversing with _Lilith,_ who, incidentally, was the cause of this war in the first place - now I will not repeat myself again, Castiel. Tell me the real reason as to why you abandoned your post!"

Castiel was stuttering over his response when Gabriel burst into the hall, what with him and Michael being absent for this meeting thing, and he basically ploughed through the crowds of angels to get to the centre of the room, ignoring the bizarre sighs of awe and amazement from them as he shoved them out of his way. And then he was at Castiel’s side, pressing two fingers to the angel's forehead and apparently projecting Castiel’s memories into a cloud similar to that of the universal mist.

Everything played out, his thoughts echoing around the hall just like they had been in Dean’s head, along with the transmission from that Nathaniel guy or whoever it was, and other than the quiet mutterings shared amongst the crowd at the visuals, it was the only sound in the room.

"Castiel is not to blame for any of this. He left his post because Lilith had intentionally targeted him through Nathaniel's thoughts, and if he hadn’t have gotten there when he did, we wouldn’t have been able to close the gate in time."

"I-I wouldn’t lie, sir -" Castiel started before he was grabbed by the arm, pulled toward the gathering of angels almost desperately as Raphael began shouting again.  Gabriel pushed those in his way aside to give Castiel leeway, although most of them had moved as it was, given that they didn’t want any kind of contact with him. They all looked so shocked; their mutterings increasing in volume in spite of Raphael’s continuous bellows, and it only seemed to worsen this ... anxiety attack, or whatever Cas was having. Dean could feel it through the transaction: a claustrophobic sensation with a tightness in his chest and even though Gabriel was pulsing through waves of calming energy, it didn’t seem to do much good.

"It’s alright, Castiel. Balthazar told me what happened," Gabriel muttered, letting go of Castiel to push open the doors to the library, and Castiel followed slowly, unsure of what to do. In all fairness, Dean didn’t know what the hell was going on either. He knew deep down that Gabriel wasn’t ever gonna hurt the guy, but with the amount of worry that Cas had felt at the time overriding all of his sensations, Dean couldn’t help but feel the same.

Cas just kinda stood there, trying to control his breathing, whilst Gabriel roamed about between the towering bookshelves, taking down several folders and piling them up in his arms. He carried them over, offering them to Castiel with hard set eyes.

"I need you to read over these."

Castiel looked down at them, taking them carefully as the worry subsided a little. "But I’ve already read some of them."

Gabriel sighed. "Well, I need you to read over them again." Another file from the counter was added to the pile. "Tell me what you find."

Gabriel walked around him, heading off back toward the great hall, and Castiel tried to follow him, calling out: "What am I looking for?"

The panic had increased again with the introduction of a new responsibility and unclear instruction, but Dean was almost glad, knowing that this would be a good distraction for the time being. Castiel could focus on something other than pain and his mistakes, and he could do something to help.

Gabriel was making him useful, which is exactly what Castiel needed.

The archangel turned around briefly, walking backwards.

"Just anything you think is strange."

Gabriel continued to bound down the hall, dodging away from the other angels that had begun to file out from the gathering in order to get past, and Castiel turned to head off to his chamber, hugging the folders to his chest.

 

*

 

Castiel dumped the files on his desk, pulling back his chair to sit down before examining the front of each one. Four of them were members of charge whilst the remaining three were on angels themselves; the sort of file he'd never read before. These kind of documents were more personal and intimate than the recordings of humans, and although these angels were now deceased, he still didn’t feel comfortable looking into their past. He didn’t even understand why Gabriel had assigned him such a task.

He pulled one of the human files toward him, opening the grey cover and staring down at the first page.

**Guardian: Samandriel**

**Assigned Human: Ava Wilson**

**Date of Birth: 4th March 1889**

**Date of Death: 29th December 1902**

**Cause of Death: Weak Heart/ Influenza/ Unknown**

Castiel blinked, rereading the cause of death again. He'd never heard of anything so very peculiar, especially since there was an _unknown_ factor, but even more so that it was a cause of three aspects.

Maybe he hadn’t read this file before. This wasn’t something he would forget.

He turned to the next page slowly, curious as to the reason behind such an occurrence. He read over each and every listed piece of her history, struggling to understand where exactly Samandriel went wrong because from what he could tell, this girl's life was the model example of successful care. Samandriel had protected her, yet the report stated that at the age of twelve, the blue began to monopolize the surface of her soul, and no amount of Grace appeared to change that. It seemed so similar to Castiel's latest member of charge in the sense that Samandriel had been unable to alter the colour or revert it back to a golden yellow, and it made him feel uncomfortable simply reading over Samandriel’s efforts, understanding how difficult it must have been to have had control over the situation for one moment, and the next things were beyond his ability. At least with Castiel’s charge he had known from the beginning that things were wrong, and he hadn’t gotten the chance to build a stronger bond with the boy, even if such things weren’t advisable.

But this? Samandriel hadn’t been ordered to end Ava's life. He’d had to keep watching over her even after all these problems had taken hold, and it was almost like he’d had no choice in the matter.

Castiel pushed the folder aside, grabbing the white angelic one that had Samandriel's name written on the exterior. He flipped it open hastily, riffling through the pages until he reached the end chapter, and he stilled, reading over the single word printed on the opening page.

**Admitted.**

_Admitted_? Admitted to _what?_

He frowned, turning the sheet over only to reveal blank pages behind it, and he slumped back in his seat, running a hand over his face. Simply printing 'admitted' was hardly explanatory, but perhaps that’s why Castiel should have really read the entirety of the file beforehand. Maybe things would make sense if he read through the events leading up to this _admittance._

So he started at the beginning, going over every last detail and member of charge Samandriel had cared for over the years, stopping at the point where Ava's report was added, but that seemed to be the end anyway. It was the end, yet so much had been left unexplained, and Castiel sighed, looking down at the other files that lay before him. The report was like that of any human, telling Castiel aspects of life history that were crucial to the investigation, but none of the mentioned facts were alarming or even particularly interesting, yet he had been admitted to _something_. Whether that was good or bad, Castiel didn’t know, but he most assuredly _wanted_ to. Gabriel was making him read over these for a reason, and Castiel had a feeling that it was something to do with the admittance side of things.

Four files of absolutely no progress later, Castiel found himself staring down at the file of Edward Zeddmore, a heavy weight settling in his chest.

He peeled open the cover carefully, the words on the first page blurring slightly no matter how much he tried to focus, and it felt like his head was filled with rocks, making it even harder for him to concentrate. He could see his own name printed clearly at the top of his page, going on to read through his own handwriting even though he already knew how the boy's life had ended. He was more concerned as to what the notes at the back of the file would say about his performance; the notes that both Michael and Raphael had contributed, owing to their involvement at the time, but he couldn’t find any. There were pages waiting to be filled in, in spite of it being almost two centuries since Edward's life had ended, and Castiel didn’t understand why they hadn’t done it yet.

More importantly, did this mean he was going to be 'admitted' too? Was he going to be taken away and written into the records as another angel who dealt with a faulty soul-shard like Hael and Ion?

He read over each file again, writing down the similarities between each of their cases, involving his own personal experience when it came to analysing the angelic files, before gathering all his papers in his arms atop the pile of folders to carry back to Gabriel.

None of it made any sense. Michael had never warned him about these kind of consequences.

He hadn’t even known Hael and Ion were _dead._

Castiel stalled outside the library for a moment before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Gabriel was spinning idly on a chair behind the main desk, eating some sort of human confectionary, but aside from his presence, there was no one else about.

"Took your time, Cassie," Gabriel started, and Castiel mouthed out the name in confusion, staring down at the folders. "Almost thought you'd given up."

"N-no, sir, I -"

"Gabriel," the archangel interrupted, and Castiel swallowed, acknowledging the correction.

"I was trying to be thorough in this ... investigation?" Castiel tried, adjusting the papers in his arms when a folder began to slip. "You weren’t exactly clear on your intent behind it.“

Gabriel was silent for a moment, aside from the gentle rustle of the confectionary wrapper, until he was suddenly at Castiel’s side, taking the files and gesturing for him to follow.

"Does there have to be a reason?"

Castiel’s thoughts came to a halt, before they were racing to catch up again. "Well, no, but you said you _needed_ me to read over them. There has to be some kind of purpose behind such a request."

The archangel moved between the shelves as he had done earlier, only to put the files away in the order that Castiel had once applied to the archive. It had taken him years, what with the constant introduction of new files and documentation, but he wouldn’t mind doing it again should others ignore the method of organisation.

"Shut the door, would you?"

Castiel nodded, scurrying back to push the heavy wooden doors closed. The library became darker until Gabriel created a source of golden light, brighter than that of his Grace, in order to ease their sight, and Castiel wandered back over, scowling down at his tattered and dirtied clothing before willing it fixed. He'd been contemplating his attire since the beginning of the war, and now that they had reached a new century, he felt an obligation to find something that suited the era on earth.

But right now, there were more important things at hand. He could fuss over his clothing in later months, at a time where he wasn’t in the presence of an archangel because he most certainly should show some respect.

"Do you know why it is that Raphael dislikes you, Castiel?" Gabriel asked, setting the final folder - _Edward's_ folder - back on the shelf.

Castiel didn’t need to think about such a thing, knowing exactly the reason why Raphael treated him in such away, but he was still surprised by the question. He hadn’t thought anyone else really cared for Raphael’s opinion, and they certainly never questioned it.

"Because my wings are black."

Gabriel looked at him for a moment before his gaze was cast about the rest of the library. "Raphael doesn’t like _difference_. He finds you, in particular, more threatening than the others that you have just learned of, purely because of your visual appearance."

"I don’t understand. He called me threatening before, but I would never ... I would never hurt him or anyone else if that’s what he means," he started, trying to keep his wings still behind him so not to reveal his distress. "And what do you mean me in particular? What was wrong with the others?"

"Wrong with them? There was nothing wrong with them - and there's nothing wrong with you, for that matter," Gabriel stressed, pushing Castiel in the forehead as he walked past. "The others were born with different coloured wings. Not black feathers, but browns and greys. You’re the only one who didn’t actually grow out of them, which is why Raphael finds you a little more intimidating."

"But Joshua had different coloured feathers. As did Inias. Why am I being singled out?"

"They have a different energy reading than you do – that’s why they are considered elders, and you are still considered a seraph," the archangel hummed, gathering a few more folders in his arms from another shelf nearby. "However," he continued. "You're far stronger than the  _regular_ seraphim, and you obviously have more ability, and that kinda adds to the whole threatening aspect because that means you’re pretty much borderline virtue."

"Virtue?" he yelped, and his wings flared wide, knocking into the sturdy bookcase behind him and rustling a few files. "That can’t be true! Virtues are - they're sacred, and I’m ... I’m disgusting! Nothing about me is pure!"

"What should purity have to do with it?" Gabriel muttered, dropping several papers to the floor. "You think all the others are pure? You think _Raphael_ is pure?"

Castiel swallowed, looking off to the side. He didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe any of it. He had _black wings,_ and now he was supposedly a _virtue_? He would have been told such a thing from the beginning if that was the case instead of waiting almost four-hundred years to announce it!

"The three files you read over - the ones that weren’t your own - belonged to three dominions. You know what dominions are, don’t you, Castiel?"

He nodded feebly, and the worry began to curl in his chest again, tightening around his lungs and making it harder to breathe. Dominions were slightly lower status than that of a virtue - the exact class below such an angel, in actual fact - and the reminder of the whole 'admittance' issue bombarded his thoughts again, highlighting concerns that involved Raphael, and whether he had something to do with the whole affair.

Castiel didn’t want to be a virtue if it meant Raphael would despise him even more; if it meant he himself would be further threatened and the abuse would increase.

Even more so if he would have to experience being 'admitted' like the others were.

"I ... I want to think over this information," he lied, drawing his wings close to his back as he walked forward. "I don’t want to talk about such a thing when I don’t particularly understand it myself."

"As you wish," the archangel sighed, straightening up and giving him the once over. "I’ll be here when you feel ready to address the subject again."

Castiel left the library as fast as he could, striding briskly back to his chamber. Once inside he closed the door, bolted it, and sat down in his chair, overlooking the worn wood of his desk. His blade lay a little to the left, clean and rid of any demonic blood, and Castiel cocked his head as he read over the inscription, a pang of utter despair wrenching through his form as he sighted each Enochian letter carved into the material. He reached for it, twirling its handle between his fingers as if toying with the grip, and he smiled to himself weakly as he brought it closer to his face, admiring the sculpture of such a weapon at a much closer distance.

It was the one thing that truly belonged to him, and in a way, it would be the most useful thing he’d ever come to own. Protection, relief - it provided both, yet it was only now that he realised just how important it was.

He ran the edge over the tip of his left index finger, barely acknowledging the sting of the cut as the blade pressed deeper into his flesh.

It didn’t hurt. Not really.

So he did it again, marking the pad of each digit with a scarlet gash, until the handle of his blade was sticky with blood and the slight ache such wounds had provided left his hands feeling numb and weak.

He didn’t want to stop.

He didn’t want to be a virtue.

It wouldn’t better the way people treated him. If anything they’d only become frightened, and knowing that Raphael hated him because of this reason - because of this destiny that he could do nothing to change - made him feel worse about the whole thing.

But he’d been looking for this kind of excuse.

He aligned the tip of his blade with the centre of his throat, leaning the weapon against the table and closing his eyes as he felt the warm touch of blood on his skin, reminders of how much easier things would be once his Grace and body were two separate entities. It would be a freedom he lived without at the moment: a freedom of being judged and hated, purely because of his exterior. They looked past the little Grace that exceeded his form, only seeing the wings, so it would be nice.

Silence. Conversation. Whatever he wanted. It was simply waiting for him to reach out and take it - waiting for him to be braver than he'd ever been.

There was a sudden _pull_ on his chest, and he drew back from the blade a little, attempting to ignore the heat that had begun to carry through his torso. If this was Gabriel’s attempt at keeping him tied to his living form, then he would do everything in his power to oppose it. Gabriel didn’t know what it was like - he would never be able to understand just how difficult it was, and it was cruel of him to force Castiel to suffer on.

And if it was Raphael? Castiel would try even harder.

Castiel aligned the blade again, gritting his teeth as he the sharp tip scraped over his skin before another burst of heat filled his veins, and he shoved the blade away, clenching a hand over his solar plexus and pulsing his Grace through his body, healing the damage prior in an attempt to rid his chest of the obscure sensation.

It was hot, like lava burning under his skin, but the most peculiar part had to have been the lack of pain, and Castiel stumbled from his chair, trying to slow his breathing as another wave of warmth twisted and worked its way into his bones.

And just like that, he was transported to the Tree of Life, the sensation moderately weaker now that the heat had resided, and Castiel glanced around hastily, taking in a sharp breath at the realisation of what had just happened.

"Castiel," Michael said softly, and Castiel took in the archangel’s presence for the first time as the universal mist collaborated in front of them, the cloud growing dense and thick until Castiel could see the image of a man in the centre. "This is your new charge."

Castiel didn’t need to be told who it was, the name firing through his mind like a bolt of lightning, and he touched at his chest, reaching out for the not-right connection.

_Dean Winchester._

 

 


	16. Counting The Days

  
The other side  
Don't want to die  
Any more than we do  
What I'm trying to say,  
Is don't they pray  
To the same God that we do?  
Tell me, how does God choose?  
Whose prayers does he refuse?  
Who turns the wheel?  
And who throws the dice  
On the day after tomorrow?

_Tom Waits_

 

 

Castiel had no choice but to stare at the centre of the universal mist as he watched the suicide play out, Michael keeping close, almost like a barrier preventing Castiel from leaving the Garden. The pull in his chest was pulsing with energy and he couldn’t cease the undeniable anger that beat around his body as if it had seeped into his bloodstream; wave after wave of indescribable ache that had worked its way deeper into his bones from the very moment he had set foot on the grass turf. It may not have hurt before, but now it was almost forcing the air out of his lungs with every moment he stood acknowledging the man’s pain. He could feel it clearly, seeping into the centre of his chest, and Castiel pressed a palm flat against his solar plexus in an attempt to ease the sensation.

He didn’t want this. He’d wanted an end to everything, not an onslaught of pain from someone else’s perspective!

He took in a sharp breath, reeling slightly as a surge of utter despair and self-hatred was forced through the connection, and he clutched at the fabric of his shirt, grimacing as he tried to focus on the image shown in the universal mist once more.

This man, Dean Winchester, had a dazed expression on his features, almost like he was unaware of his actions and the outcome such an instance would produce. Bottle after bottle, the man swallowed the pills, ignorant of the fact that his death would not be quick, but a slow, agonizing event that would drag out for days in a hospital bed.

More pain filled the link and Castiel had to turn away to control his breathing pattern. It had never hurt this much with his charges prior, so was this some sort of punishment? Was Raphael making him suffer even _more?_ Or Gabriel, or even Michael – purely because he’d wanted an escape from something that had been forced upon him _every single day?_

Did they _really_ think that this would stop him?

Castiel crafted the soul-shard as quickly as he could, scowling down at the orb as the first light sparked in the centre, illuminating the body with a dim, yellow glow. Michael set a hand on his shoulder once the deed was done, his voice soft as he attempted conversation. “Is everything alright, Castiel? How does the bond feel this time?”

There was a bitter taste in Castiel’s mouth as he shifted the soul-shard to the crook of his arm. “The bond is fine,” he lied, keeping the tremor from his voice as he clenched his fists. Could it be any more obvious that one of them had tampered with the link? Castiel almost wanted to destroy the soul-shard before the archangel out of spite, no matter how much pain it would serve himself. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have such a connection.”

Michael hummed in acknowledgement but Castiel remained as stoic as before, waiting for the moment that Michael would grant him leave. He knew that lying about such a thing was generally frowned upon, but Castiel could see no harm in doing so. It wasn’t as if they could do anything to alter the strength of the bond now that it had been initiated, and it was beside the point.

The bond wouldn’t exist for much longer.

“Take good care of him, Castiel,” Michael said finally, releasing his hold so that Castiel was free to move away. Castiel pressed his lips together tightly as he nodded, before turning away to walk back toward his chamber again. His legs felt sluggish and his wings were a dead weight against his back, yet the _pull_ in his chest grew with every movement and he couldn’t help but pray that it would genuinely fall to something regular. Holding his breath did nothing to change it, and he stepped into his room slowly, closing the door as gently as he could before turning to face his desk.

The soul-shard slammed hard into the shelving, knocking several tools from the ledge in a way that caused the items to clatter loudly to the floor. Castiel grabbed the shard again, hurling it against the rock wall for a second time, willing it to smash and become as faulty as the last.

Over and over the orb rebounded from the stone, surface unblemished and still radiating that yellow light, and Castiel didn’t want to stop, relinquishing himself of the controlling heat as he attempted to recall a time where he’d felt as utterly desperate as this in the past; compelled to clench at his hair and drop to the floor with his forehead to the ground, choking out hushed pleas for everything to just _stop_ as the phantom blood touched at his skin and made his hands feel clammy and wet.

The guilt was beginning to set in, Michael’s words echoing in Castiel’s skull repetitively, reminding him that he was the _only one_ who could prevent the human from becoming so very _pained_.

Castiel couldn’t just _abandon_ someone like this when their bond was so incredibly healthy. He couldn’t just let the child _suffer_.

It wasn’t fair of him to corrupt the boy’s life when he was more than capable of making things right again.

Castiel’s wings beat down against the floor in agitation as the grief melded with the ever-present panic, adding to the discomfort the bond provided.

If he did … if he chose to look after the boy, he knew it would be his last chance to prove himself. Raphael would not accept anymore mistakes, and as much as Castiel wanted to find out what being ‘admitted’ truly meant, he most assuredly did not want first hand experience in the matter.

He raised his head a little to glare at the orb, watching the yellows continue to shift over the surface languidly, unaffected by Castiel’s turmoil. He reached for it, tapping the surface timidly and letting out a heavy breath at the sight of the reaction blooming beneath the glass. He wouldn’t deny the disappointment he felt, having hoped that perhaps he would have had an excuse to put them both out of their misery, but he would do his best to give the child a better life. He couldn’t take his anger out on a human like this, especially because of its infancy, so he placed his palm over the top of the orb to drag it closer, sitting up properly and dropping it carelessly into his lap as he leant back against the wall.

He hated how trapped he felt, forced to care for someone when his freedom was so limited; his actions and speech were continuously questioned, and now he’d have to put up with it for a further sixty years or more. Of course, the child wasn’t to blame, no matter how much Castiel wanted to find fault in such a sudden cause. If he had acted just a few seconds sooner, both of them could have had peace.

He sighed, rubbing his thumb over the orb tentatively as the ache in his chest became tinged with a gentle warmth, and he tried to fill his mind with positive reminders; like how he didn’t necessarily have to _leave_ his chamber. He didn’t have to talk to anyone that wasn’t of importance, and even then, he would have to be summoned if such a meeting was necessary.

He could try … he could try to make things work for himself in these few years available to him.

Castiel picked up the soul-shard with both hands, staring down at the centre as the slight golden tendrils twirled toward his fingertips. It was almost as if by holding the orb in his palms, the catastrophe in his chest seemed to subside, and all that remained was an untainted version of the _pull_ : a constant reminder that there was a human who needed his assistance – a human who was unintentionally relying upon him for help. It felt different to when he had held onto the shard before, but he supposed that it was because they were sharing energy now. They were essentially one essence.

And yet, it was still remarkably different. Castiel knew the archangels had tampered with the initial bond in an attempt of persuasion, but this felt so very wrong. It shouldn’t have remained so prominent after the connection had been finalized, and he’d begun to acknowledge the _need_ that encircled the tie – the additional pulse that almost insisted upon a want to watch through the mist and _learn._ It had been so long since he last looked down at earth, and already he knew things would have changed. Technology and medicine, construction and nature – they were all things that he had failed to observe over the past two centuries, and although he would still have occasions to read the documentation stored in the library, he wanted to see these developments with his own eyes.

He conjured the cloud beside him, taking a few moments to examine the exterior of the soul-shard for damage before glancing sideways at the image, tilting his head as he analysed the scene in greater detail. He sought out the member of his charge desperately, looking for the bright glow that would surpass all others. He could see it radiating from a small crib amongst many more, and he coaxed the view over the piece of furniture so he could examine his charge properly.

The boy was sleeping, his features relaxed and his skin slightly flushed as his chest fluctuated slowly. His tiny hands were curled in a blue blanket to the side of his form, clearly kicked away during his dreams, and Castiel tapped the shard experimentally now that he had the baby in view, observing the way his lips parted in a sigh, and the yellow twisted and coiled in the centre of his soul. It was odd to note the differences between this child and Claire – more prominently that she hadn’t had a decorative cot such as this one, nor did she sleep with an assortment of toys piled in with her. This boy was clearly going to grow up spoiled, the small bed already littered with toys of bright colours, and clothing that looked as if it were made of much softer material than anything Claire had ever been dressed in. It was these kind of pointed differences that were beginning to unsettle Castiel, more so when he recalled that even during Edward’s short time; the boy had never had anything that looked so plush.

Castiel watched as the baby stirred, his pudgy arms twining in the blanket as it was brought up to his mouth, lips closing around the corner of the fabric, and his eyelids twitched, eyelashes fluttering as he squinted against the brightness. Castiel rubbed the pad of his forefinger over the soul-shard and Dean cooed, his legs kicking out as his eyes opened wider, and the green irises stared up into the universal mist directly as his mouth was opened wide in a smile.

Castiel had always liked this stage of human life most. The first year after birth was the only time the child could actually see _him_ in return, and although he would personally appreciate their attention in later years, aside from the moments he could visit them in Heaven, he was alright with the recognition now. Especially when the baby reached for him, his tiny hands grabbing at the air and grasping at nothing, causing a bout of distress to cross the connection, and Castiel smiled, rubbing the shard again in compensation. It didn’t seem to stop Dean from growing annoyed, and the baby began to voice his irritation, his face scrunching up as his demand for attention failed, so Castiel placed his palm over the soul-shard completely, filling it with calming energy that coaxed the baby into a state of stupor once more. Dean made a low gurgling noise before his eyelids were sliding closed, arms coming to rest at his sides as he took in a deep breath, and Castiel urged the blanket to cover his drowsy form, draped over his stomach to supply him with warmth.

Yes, it was lazy of him to put the boy to sleep so soon after him rousing, but it would prevent him from crying and waking up the other children around him. Not only that, but it gave Castiel the opportunity to take a look around, cataloguing equipment and items, and the more obvious changes to the style of the place.

It was clean – very white and almost glowing as the sunlight filtered down through the apparent glass of the window pane, but it was the amount of light that surprised Castiel most of all. Instead of the golden colour of gas light emission, these lamps were pure and strong – almost like a colourless version of an angel’s Grace. It was impressive to observe their unwavering presence, even if it was a little startling. He hadn’t expected the humans to master such a thing before the angels had themselves, and it only reminded him that he was observing a different future altogether. He wasn’t used to observing change, having watched over the earth for a consistent period prior, and this was all so very _new_. It was exciting to know he could compare the three members of charge whilst he went about his care.

He imagined that Dean would be as easy to watch over as Claire had been, given how cooperative the shard was to his touch and how simple it was to manipulate the world around them, but he knew no bond was the same. This one had been forced to become stronger – whether that was down to his attempted suicide or because the boy genuinely required more care he wasn’t entirely sure – so he knew he had to be wary. Assumptions could lead to downfall, and that in turn would affect the child’s health. He couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong this time. Not when both of their lives were in the balance.

Castiel sat back fully as some kind of staff member walked over to Dean’s crib, unlatching the stop on the wheels to begin pushing the peculiar cot out of the room. The baby was moved down several hallways, all of which were as stark as the room Dean had initially been situated in, until he arrived in a smaller room that consisted of a single bed and an assortment of some kind of machinery. It was all just as well lit as everywhere else, and it had a larger window overlooking several other buildings. For a brief moment, Castiel simply stared out at the few creations within the limits of the universal mist, wondering how the humans had managed to construct something so _large_. There was no significant amount of pure land that he could see, only an occasional strip of grass that contrasted with the grey of the concrete, but it was all extremely intimidating.

Humans had essentially _destroyed_ what had once been beautiful.

Castiel had never seen this part of the world before, though. America was as new as the changes to the planet, but he couldn’t help but question whether the same changes had applied to the rest of the world.

He alternated his perspective so that he was to the side of his newly assigned human, watching with disdain as the boy was lifted from his crib and woken with a start. Dean hiccupped once before he his face was scrunching up again, and Castiel could feel a surge of his own annoyance as the baby started to cry. It had been so very obvious that Dean had been sleeping – there was no need to rouse him so abruptly – and now this staff member had upset the child when he had done no wrong.

Castiel soothed the soul-shard, letting his fingers rest on the glass as he attempted to calm the baby down. Dean was kicking out his legs as he was held up, green eyes blurry with tears as he looked around before he was placed in the arms of a woman whom Castiel could only assume was Dean’s mother. He wept against her chest, hands grabbing at her long hair as he tried to pull himself up, and she laughed wearily, adjusting Dean’s position so that his face was nestled beneath her chin as she shushed him, rubbing at the top of his back slowly. It was the sort of gesture Castiel had always felt compelled to do himself, even if to admit such a thing would make him appear to angels stranger than they already perceived him. He wasn’t sure if the others shared the same view whenever they were watching over a human, but it shouldn’t matter.  He’d much rather nurture a child of his own than some human offspring, regardless of how much it appealed to him, and he knew that neither option was available. He was still forbidden from venturing to earth, and no one would ever want to be his mate. Even if, by some miracle, an angel saw past the colour of his wings, he would never be able to hold a fledgling, nor would he be able to care for it.

There was no point considering an ideal when it was blatantly obvious it would never come to pass.

So he thought himself content whilst watching the baby hiccup against his mother’s clothed shoulder, as he had seen many times before with his previous charges. The only difference with Dean was the simplicity of relaxing him after being virtually provoked into a state of aggravation, and now Dean was being lulled back to sleep as his mother hummed some gentle melody, his body slumping in his mother’s hold as she leant back into the pillows, smiling.

She was beautiful, even in her exhausted state; fair-haired with sun-kissed skin, and Castiel watched the way her fingers toyed with the thin fabric of Dean’s clothing, massaging between his shoulder blades as she discussed her choice of names with the staff member from across the room. Obviously, because Castiel had access to Dean’s future, he had knowledge of what the choice would be prior, but from what he understood, Dean’s mother was waiting for her husband to arrive before she finalised her decision.

This was the first time Castiel had noted the absence of Dean’s father, despite being used to both parents being present for the birth in the first place, and it was at least an hour before the man did finally show up, by which time Dean had been fed and had fallen asleep in the crook of his mother’s arm, fingers still clutching at her long hair throughout his dreams.

“Mary,” the man practically squeaked from the doorway, and Dean’s mother smiled wider, flashing her teeth before glancing down at the baby in her arms again. She jostled Dean lightly as if attempting to wake him, and although Castiel had found the way in which the nurse maid had attempted to wake him before annoying, this situation was absolutely fine, and Castiel coaxed Dean out of his dream state slowly, not wanting to alarm the child with his actions.

“You gonna say ‘hi’ to Daddy?” She whispered, kissing the baby’s forehead as he shifted in her hold, green eyes peering from behind an arm as Dean’s father stepped closer, leaning over the bedside. Dean brought the hand down to his lips, mouthing at his fist as he stared up at his father, keeping relatively quiet as Castiel continued to relax him through his soul.

When Castiel looked back to the father, he could see the tears in his eyes, contrasting with the broad smile on his face.

“Can I hold him?”

Dean’s mother laughed before the baby was being carefully raised and handed to the man. Dean squirmed slightly, making sharp noises of annoyance until he was settled comfortably, eyes darting around as he analysed his surroundings. Castiel watched as those green eyes landed on him again, so he made the cloud dissipate from the child’s view, enabling the one way vision, even if it made the baby voice his irritation again. Dean quietened down when his father rocked him slightly, his big eyes blinking up at the man as his hands grasped at the fabric of his shirt, but the annoyance still seeped through the connection slowly and Castiel almost regretted letting the baby see him in the first place.

Claire had never sought him out, and neither had Edward, and Castiel didn’t want to deprive the boy’s parents of Dean’s attention if it was going to cause problems. Dean needed to _learn_ who his parents were and that _they_ were the ones that could help most when he needed something. Castiel may be able to manipulate the world surrounding Dean, but he couldn’t necessarily bathe or feed the child without using an extortionate amount of his Grace.

And besides, if he had to resort to such a task, then clearly the parents shouldn’t be caring for a child in the first place.

 

*

 

The Winchesters lived a fairly long distance away from the hospital, but it gave Castiel a while to compare this century with the era he’d seen last. For starters, the design of the houses and surrounding buildings were completely new – none of them seemed to have those familiar wooden beams supporting each home they passed, and there were very few that were dark in exterior colour. What was even more obscure was the way in which they _travelled_ back to the Winchester residence. Castiel had never seen a car that looked like this before, only motorized models of the common carriage, but even then they had been very few in numbers. It was rare to see such a contraption on the streets in France, and in England it seemed even more so. Of course, Castiel had rarely spent any time observing the English landscape or the technology that it had on display, but clearly the world had excelled in more instances than he’d expected. _This_ kind of automobile was incredibly impressive – more so considering the fact that humans were no longer relying upon animals to aid them with this kind of travel – and it seemed somewhat capable of keeping Dean protected. The boy was in the backseat, dozing lightly whilst his parents made the journey home, and Castiel watched their surroundings carefully, just in case there was something nearby that could potentially cause the baby harm.

He wondered if he was perhaps being a little too cautious, but then there was that sharp reminder that he needed to be. Dean couldn’t become hurt whilst he was in Castiel’s care or they would both suffer for it. It was actually rather irritating knowing that they would be each other’s downfall – especially if Dean’s life met an early end because of Castiel’s inability to keep him cheerful. So far it had been relatively simple to calm and enchant the boy, but all that could change. The bond could fall to something regular and things could become more complicated, so already Castiel felt the need to prepare himself. He wasn’t going to risk anything.

He continued to rub his thumb along the surface of Dean’s soul-shard to keep him drowsy and content throughout the rest of the trip, and he reacted well, a plush toy resting limp in his arms as his loose muscles failed to keep it close to his chest, and Castiel smiled, using his energy to adjust the positioning of the small stuffed animal so that it didn’t run the threat of falling from the child’s grip onto the floor. Dean barely stirred, fingers flexing around the soft material as his head lolled to the side and a heavy breath passed his lips, his mother turning around momentarily from the passenger seat to rub her fingertips over his stomach, stalling for a moment as she simply held her hand in place, feeling each exhalation. Again, Dean kept quiet, his free hand clenching the empty air as the car came to a halt, motor cutting out so that all that filled the air was the soft sound of Dean breathing.

Within a few minutes, Dean had been taken into his new home and settled in the crook of his mother’s arm as she seated herself on what appeared to be a cushioned version of a bench. Castiel knew Dean would be fine in her company, so he took this opportunity to familiarise himself with the room they were in.

It was rather bare; several boxes of different sizes littering the corner to the far left, but aside from the peculiar bench, it seemed to be the only piece of furniture in the room. Castiel doubted the humans would seat themselves on something that clearly had ‘fragile’ printed on the side (whether or not it was because of the contents or the general build, Castiel didn’t know) but he was truly surprised by the apparent scarcity of objects in the home.

As the day progressed, Castiel was granted exploration of several other rooms in the home, keeping the mist out of sight so Dean wouldn’t kick up a fuss again. He’d been good all afternoon, even with the few guests that visited the house to coddle him and call him ‘precious’, and Castiel felt something like pride when the baby kept silent, regardless of the irritation that pulsed through the connection from being continuously passed amongst the visitors. The commotion didn’t last for very long, with Mary’s parents staying the longest – but that was to be expected. From what Castiel had learnt after observing the family, he knew that Mary was an only child; resulting in Dean being the first grandchild the Campbell’s could call their own. They handled Dean with more care than any of the other guests and they were far quieter when complimenting him on his eyes and the like. It was nice of them to take such precaution – especially because Castiel knew the amount of noise prior had been unsettling Dean’s attempt at a calm state.

As of yet, Castiel hadn’t had much to do in terms of using the emotional aid. Dean seemed to be coping fairly well without his assistance in the situation, and it was actually rather refreshing to think that the boy may be easier to look after than Claire had been. Things were beginning to look rather promising, what with the bond remaining strong for the entirety of the earth day, and although Castiel had reprimanded himself numerous times over the past few hours for even hoping things would remain so basic, the probability seemed even more likely now. It brought a sort of relaxation to his form as he watched over the baby, understanding that he and the child would share the same sensations should he flatten his palm over the orb in his lap; so he did just that, tilting his head to the side as he observed Dean’s reaction through the universal mist.

Dean wasn’t showing any signs of weariness in his soul, but he'd closed his eyes, slumping in his mother’s arms once he was passed back again, opening his mouth in a yawn. Mary clearly took that as to mean that Dean was tired, and she carried him upstairs to the child’s bedroom, pressing a kiss to his forehead before laying him down in the crib. The small bed was the only real piece of furniture in the room, aside from the dresser to the right beside the door, but other than that it seemed just as barren as any other room in the home. Again, there were boxes in the corner, some open to reveal brightly coloured ornaments and the like inside, and finally Castiel understood as to why the word ‘fragile’ had been printed on the exterior. He could only assume that the others downstairs were the same.

Over the next few days, Castiel saw more of their contents as multiple boxes were opened and emptied, additional furniture occupying the free space in each room. The house appeared more welcoming and much similar to the homes of Castiel’s previous charges, even if such objects were both bizarre and intricate. Things like a refrigerator and shower Castiel had never seen before, and although they were quite bulky in terms of size and structure, they seemed to be relatively important in terms of everyday life. Dean never relied upon either appliance, but his parents went to them frequently. Castiel simply found it interesting to know that there were more elaborate creations to aid human life, whether it be keeping food fresh for longer, or an alternative method to bathing.

Dean was definitely simple in terms of needs, but his parents played a fairly big part in terms of keeping him content. Mary and John made good parents despite their young ages, in addition to their economic situation. Castiel may have thought Dean spoiled to begin with, but judging by the few arguments the couple had engaged in, apparently that wasn’t the case. John Winchester was having a hard time finding work, owing to the fact that the family had only moved into the area a week or so ago, so understandably, things were rather difficult for them to handle. It wasn’t as if Castiel hadn’t seen this issue before, but it wasn’t exactly reassuring – more so because of Mary’s activeness, in spite of having only given birth a few days prior. She shouldn’t have had so much stress added to her recovery, and in Castiel’s opinion, she should have stayed at the hospital for a little longer in order to ensure a better recuperation. In Castiel’s position, he couldn’t help either Mary or John should any harm come to them, no matter how much he’d like to. That was another frustrating aspect of caring over a human – more so when the family members were in a situation such as this. Without work, neither adult could afford for the child, and Castiel had always thought that aid for them would have been acceptable given the fact that it could ultimately affect the charge member’s health.

But it was in instances like these that Castiel had to find a method that would benefit the child directly without seeming conspicuous in terms of helping the parents, and that was usually incredibly difficult. There were several angels that observed the care every so often, and Castiel couldn’t risk the bond so early on in the connection. The fact that he _knew_ this was his last chance to supply a perfect life for a human only made the situation worse because there was a fairly high chance he was receiving special attention as it was.

So Castiel decided to wait it out for a while. He could tell that John was a determined young man, and his search for work was persistent. He had faith that the human would be able to find some form of employment of his own accord.

It took two weeks before Dean’s father was given work, even if it was after apparently calling in a favour from an old friend, but Mary was happy and in turn Dean would be well supported, so Castiel could find no fault in such a thing.

The family visited the place of work, even if in Castiel’s opinion it was too loud for Dean’s sensitive ears, but it was peculiar to observe. John had taken a place in what was called a ‘garage’, and he repaired the automobiles that humans now relied upon for transport. Dean didn’t take much interest in his surroundings, burying his face in his mother’s neck as he tried to fall back asleep, but Castiel thought the place rather intriguing. Just seeing the employees adjusting the internal machinery of these cars was different to any form of labour he’d seen before, and it was odd to discover that they could even supply such a bizarre line of work.

Castiel averted his eyes from the mist as he looked about his chamber, clutching the soul-shard to his chest before rising to his feet. He hadn’t moved since he’d first sat down, but seeing this new area of business reminded him that he could quite simply research the changes made to the developing earth whilst Dean slept.

He opened the door to his room to step out into the corridor, and he began to pad down it quietly, looking behind him just the once in order to make sure there was no one around. He didn’t want to encounter anyone whilst he cared for Dean, desperate to avoid any and all kinds of abusive comment or mockery of his performance. He knew what he was doing, and he didn’t need the others making him feel more paranoid then he already was.

The universal mist drifted beside him, and Castiel peered at its centre to check up on Dean’s whereabouts. The boy was asleep in the back of the car, and Castiel smiled, brushing the cloud away with his fingertips as he continued down the hall. He’d found that Dean slept quite a lot and his dreams were always so pleasant. Castiel knew that because of this, he had several hours ahead of him with nothing of real significance to occupy his time with. He’d wanted to visit the library for a while, even if he may not get any of his desired reading completed today, but he wanted to learn more about the culture of America in addition to the history he’d missed over the past hundred years whilst the war had kept him busy. Even the hundred years before that were somewhat blank to him, so he had a lot of information to go over, even if it wasn’t compulsory to study such a thing. Castiel just didn’t want to seem ignorant, and it could help him in terms of caring for Dean if he became aware of the new dangers and threats man had created over the past two centuries. It wasn’t all about finding something to ease his boredom. He wanted to make sure he was doing everything right.

Castiel pushed on the large doors to the library, glancing about him before he stepped inside. It was empty and silent, and Castiel adjusted the soul-shard in the crook of his arm before he headed down toward the development section of records. He stared down each isle as he looked for the correct era, using the light of Dean’s soul-shard to guide the way. He’d forgotten just how dark it was in this part of the building, but the orb was doing an impressive job in terms of lighting up the path, so Castiel was pleased he didn’t have to spend his energy to make things easier for himself.

He came to a stop where the documents merged between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, reaching for the folders that were new to him. He’d learnt a little of the nineteenth century before the war had begun, and now all he needed to do was familiarise himself with the developments made from that point forward. Just thinking about it excited him, and he collected as much information in his arms as he could before heading over to the nearby table to dump the files on its surface. He kept Dean’s soul-shard rested in the crook of his arm as he took his seat, putting it down carefully and leaving his hand on its surface as he pulled the first file toward him.

He was a few hours into reading over the industrial age when the sound of the library doors being opened had him losing concentration. He’d forgotten that others would be able to join him here and he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of remaining in their company for too long. The only real issue preventing him from leaving was the fact that he wasn’t permitted to take the folders with him, so he was slightly conflicted.

There was always the possibility of returning on a different day, but he really should have read the files upon first interacting with Dean. Protection was of the upmost importance, and without the knowledge of what a threat to the baby was, and what wasn’t, Castiel wouldn’t be able to handle each situation as well as he possibly could.

He shrunk in on himself, gingerly turning onto the next page as the footsteps echoed just a short distance away. It was unsettling him, and he pulled Dean’s soul-shard closer as he tried to focus on the words scrawled on the thin leaves of paper.

Dean was still sleeping; his energy a constant flow of warmth through the connection that provided the only source of relaxation Castiel could muster. He knew he shouldn’t have been relying upon the baby to ease his nerves, but over the past few days especially, he’d grown used to the sentiments that seeped into his chest. Castiel had learnt to filter them for his own tranquillity, although he’d never encountered an instance in which he’d wanted to rely upon it like this.

“Castiel,” someone addressed, and Castiel stilled at the recognition of Gabriel’s voice. The memories of their last encounter came flooding back, along with the sharp reminder that the archangels were the ones responsible for his and Dean’s bond in the first place.

“Gabriel,” he responded coldly, not bothering to address him with his regular formality. He turned to the next page of the file, absentmindedly stroking Dean’s soul-shard with his thumb as he did so.

He continued to stare down at the page as the archangel sat opposite him, words melding together to form unappealing dark smudges on the greyish shade of paper. In any other instance, Castiel would have preferred Gabriel’s company over that of another angel, but given the circumstances, even Uriel would have been better.

“We need to talk,” Gabriel said softly, and Castiel clenched his jaw, running his eyes over each line again in spite of his inability to read what had been written.

“I’m rather busy at the moment,” he stated, tightening his hold on the orb as he turned another page. He knew it was rather risky to be talking to an archangel in such a way, but the constant recollection that the three superiors were keeping him alive out of ignorance or sadistic pleasure prevented him from dropping the harsh tone in which he spoke. It wasn’t fair, and although Dean was pleasant enough to care for, it still didn’t change the fact that the strength of the bond was an unnecessary distraction and that there was still a chance that he would encounter more pain through his brethren’s words and actions. Regardless of whether he wanted to find out what being admitted meant, he would have still preferred an end to his life.

“This is a bit more important than reading over a couple of files.”

Castiel scowled, glancing up at Gabriel for a brief moment. “That’s your opinion.”

The files flew out from under his hands, scattering sheets about the floor when they knocked into the shelving, but Castiel remained still, concealing his annoyance as he attempted to calm himself.

From Castiel's point of view, such a display mimicked that of the torment he’d encountered the last time he’d seated himself in the library to read over records, and it was frightening him more than anything else. He’d trusted Gabriel to be different to the others, even if he was an archangel, so to have him disrupt Castiel’s research purely because it didn’t benefit him had Castiel’s wings trembling against his back.

“Was that really necessary?” He asked quietly, averting his gaze to the now-empty space on the table before him to avoid eye contact. He felt nowhere near as confident and his chest felt like it was being crushed with discomfort.

“You can read all those documents later. Right now, you’ve got more important things to worry about,” Gabriel began, outstretching a hand so that it was visible in Castiel’s peripheral vision. “Give me the soul-shard for a sec.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel blurted, pulling it even closer to his chest. He didn’t like the idea of anyone handling Dean’s soul-shard for fear of their bond being tampered with further. There were so many risks he could face by giving away the orb, even if it would only be for a short period of time, but he couldn’t afford for Dean to become dissatisfied at all. Not only that, but he didn't want the bond to become any different. He was used to it now, and any alteration to its strength - if a thing was even _possible_ \- could make things far more difficult.

“You’re giving off all sorts of freaky energy readings, and half of them are coming from the kid’s soul. Just let me look at it.”

Castiel glanced to the bright orb, watching the yellow spin over its surface. He didn’t understand what Gabriel meant. Dean wasn’t giving off any significant kind of power – it was as regular as any bonded human soul – so was he referring to the bond itself? Castiel knew it felt strong, but he hadn’t realised the others would be able to detect its energy.

Then again, the archangels had caused the issue in the first place, but maybe they hadn’t anticipated the finalized intensity.

“It will literally take a minute. Then you can have it right back.”

Perhaps he should be doing as he was asked, given their different angelic statuses. Castiel still refused to believe that he was anything like a virtue, even if it would grant him that little bit of superiority over the other seraphim. He didn’t want to be feared or mocked further, and regardless of his power, he knew none of the others would care for his orders, but Gabriel was another matter. Castiel would never be more superior to any of the archangels, so he knew he had to do what was asked of him, even if it brought him his own demise.

He scooped up the orb in his palms, sending a bout of warmth rolling through the link before he was handing it over. The pleasant sensation the bond had provided him with abandoned his form, and a certain coldness filled his body as the archangel examined the exterior.

“What the – “

Gabriel was cut off as the intensity of the orb increased and a sudden surge of raw power exploded from the glowing body, sending Castiel falling from his chair and landing painfully on his wings. He cried out as several of the slight bones snapped beneath his weight, but then there was the abrupt ache that erupted in his solar plexus and he scrabbled to his feet as fast as he could, rushing over to where Gabriel had dropped the shard to the floor.

“What did you do to him?!” Castiel shouted, hastily picking up the orb to cradle it to his chest, pulsing reassurance and apologies through the link in order to soothe the sharp energy that blatantly distinguished Dean’s distress. He knew Dean was crying without even relying on the universal mist to see, but it was hurting and he couldn’t ease the adversity that had alarmed the baby so very much.

“I should be asking you the same thing!” The archangel retorted, struggling up from the floor and resting a hand on a nearby bookshelf.

Castiel glowered at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked away as he waited for an answer, covering the surface of the soul-shard with his palm to fill it with as much calming energy as he possibly could. This was the first time he’d seen it become so dark, having only seen flashes of blue from when Mary Winchester had delayed his feeding time by a mere five minutes.

He stooped down so he was resting on his knees as he began to heal the minor damage done to his wings, still putting Dean’s sentiments first as those were far more important than his own injuries. He wasn’t sure what it was that Gabriel had done to make Dean so very upset, but that reaction had to be anything but good.

“You could have at least told me you’d warded the fucking thing,” Gabriel groaned, leaning fully against the shelves. “I didn’t deserve _that.”_

“What do you mean it’s warded?” Castiel started in alarm, hastily shifting the orb so it was held at arms length. Gradually, the yellow crept back over the surface, but Castiel still kept it at a distance, not wanting anymore damage to come to his form. ”I never warded it!”

“Then what the hell did you do to make it so damn powerful?”

Castiel was confused by the question, and he stared at the orb as he waited for the answer to come to him. He, personally, hadn’t done anything to alter the normality of the soul-shard, and no one else had handled it before Gabriel so there wasn’t a chance of physical tampering before that moment in time. All that left as a possibility, aside from Gabriel being the culprit, was one of the archangels through the manipulation of the bond.

Castiel didn’t know how it worked! He barely understood what talent it was that Gabriel mastered, so aside from time manipulation, he didn't really know what else it was that the archangels could do!

“Are you trying to make this out to be _my_ fault?” Castiel queried, looking up again to meet Gabriel’s stare.

The archangel seemed a little taken aback; blinking at him as if it was the most ridiculous assumption he’d ever heard. “Well, no. I’m just surprised you figured out how to do it without me showing you.”

It was Castiel’s turn to be at a loss for words, and his irritation seemed to subside a little, replaced with yet more confusion.

“So you _didn’t_ tamper with Dean’s soul,” he pressed, letting his arms go a little slack so that the soul-shard was pulled closer to his form. He didn’t care if it posed as a risk to his health. That shouldn’t have even been a bothersome concern. He needed to treat Dean’s soul as best he could after such an aggravating alteration before.

“Of course I didn’t! I just wanted to check for any future faults.”

Again, Castiel didn't know what to say, because he knew what it was Gabriel was trying to achieve. He hadn't expected the archangel to be looking out for him like that, and he didn't know how he should feel about it. He wanted to be grateful, but he still wasn't sure as to whether Gabriel was merely making amends for the bond. He was trying to eliminate those kind of thoughts from his mind, his want to trust Gabriel overriding everything else.

"So you don't know about the bond?"

"Is that a trick question? I know you're bonded to the child. And clearly the kid knows he's bonded to you, otherwise he wouldn't be picking favourites."

If Gabriel was lying, he was doing a fairly good job at feigning nesience. But Castiel wanted to address the issue now, even if he'd be found out for keeping the truth from Michael.

“So... you can't detect anything wrong? At all?" Castiel persisted, and Gabriel continued to stare at him with that look of absolute disarray.

"Does it _feel_ wrong?"

Castiel took a moment before nodding, and the archangel sighed, pushing away from the shelving to walk over.

"Describe it to me."

And Castiel did, retelling the sensation he'd first encountered extending to even the most recent, more than willingly voicing his opinion on why it had occurred in the first place. He didn't miss the way Gabriel paled when he explained why he thought the archangels had done what they did, but he ignored it, too keen to express his every thought on the topic and how very upset it had made him at the time. Obviously, he was still rather irritated, but the reminder that Dean would benefit from his care was what made him somewhat less so. It wasn't the human's fault for being born at that moment in time, and it wasn't his fault that they were compatible. Dean deserved just a good a life as any other being on earth.

He could sense the baby calming down with each stroke of his fingertips over the glass surface of the soul-shard, and a certain warmth washed over him when he imagined the smile he'd receive should he summon the universal mist to look. Dean was a lot more relaxed now - not necessarily asleep because Castiel could detect the vigilance applied to each sense - and it was more than likely that Mary was with him in order to keep him in such a state.

"Sit down for a moment, Castiel," Gabriel murmured, lifting the chair from the floor so that it was upright again. Castiel did the same with the seat he'd taken prior, before sitting down to face the archangel again. He placed Dean's soul-shard on the table, cupping his hands around the exterior so he could keep rubbing his thumbs over its surface to ensure absolute tranquillity for the baby.

"This wasn't anything to do with us, okay? We don't have the ability to do this sort of thing, and I'm sorry that you think _me_ of all people would want you to keep on enduring the shit all the others put you through, but the last thing I'd want is for you suffer. I mean, it's true that I'd rather not see you end your life, but I've never seen anyone receive the same treatment as you do, and I understand why you'd considered it in the first place," the archangel continued. "Things do get better, Castiel. And I know it's probably gonna seem pretty insensitive of me, but we need to talk about you and what just happened.”

Castiel nodded begrudgingly, keeping his line of sight downcast as he did so. Gabriel wasn't being insensitive. He was doing his duty, and it hadn't prevented him from being nicer than anyone else in Heaven.

"I think the reason this bond is so ... strange for you, is probably because of your power," Gabriel began, using his Grace to attract a few new files to where they had sat, the brown folders of paper dropping down onto the wooden surface of the table. "Last time you got a little touchy on the subject of virtues, but I don't think you realise how damn important it is that you know what you're capable of."

"So you _are_ saying this is my fault?" He exhorted, attempting to focus on the warmth of Dean's soul over the insinuations of their conversation. "In spite of the fact that forming Dean's bond was no different to the ones before his?"

"Look. I don't know how the whole bonding thing works. The only real explanation I have for this is that whatever anger you felt, or however upset you were at the time - _that_ was what made it stronger. But this really isn't my area of expertise. Michael's the one who has all the Guardian knowledge."

Castiel closed his eyes as he attempted to comprehend everything he was being told. He didn't feel comfortable knowing that he was the reason why the bond was so strong, but he shouldn't doubt the word of an archangel. Of course, he didn't like the knowledge he was being provided with, but if he truly had induced the strength of the bond, then he wanted to know a little more than some guess at what such a cause had been. Anger and upset was hardly explanatory, and Castiel wanted to know how the concentration of such energy could have even affected his and Dean's connection in the first place. When he thought about those two entities, he generally associated those with misfortune, and although he had been somewhat disgruntled when the bond had first been initiated, he couldn't possibly deem the baby as a troublesome addition to his life. The bond was a little too prominent for his liking but it wasn't as much of a burden as he'd initially made it out to be, and it was actually rather reassuring to feel Dean's life energy more than he had for the others. In a way, it ensured better care, given the fact that Castiel had already found it easier to detect the source of issue and upset, even if there hadn't been many instances in which there had been such a problem before.

"Is Dean's life in danger?" He asked for reassurance, pulling the soul-shard closer as he waited for an answer. He'd considered it before: the threat such a strength could have on the baby, but he'd never anticipated the orb to react on it's own like it had done just a short while ago. The kind of force that the shard had given off, in addition to the affects it had had on both Dean and Castiel, was more than a little worrying, and Castiel wanted to be aware of any other dangers the angels could bring to the baby's health. It was bad enough being clueless when it came to the new dangers on earth. Adding greater threats to the list would make everything far more challenging.

"Not that I know of," Gabriel told him. "So long as you don't let anyone else try to heal him, I think he'll be fine."

Castiel smiled at that, knowing that he would never permit anyone else to touch the orb. Michael would be the only other angel he'd ever consider handing the soul-shard to, but if Gabriel said it would hurt the baby, then Castiel would have to inform the archangel should he ever ask.

"What can I do to ensure his safety?" He pressed further, summoning the universal mist to his side so he could watch over Dean properly. He was surprised to find Dean staring back at him from over his mother's shoulder, eyes still watery and cheeks slightly flushed, but he'd calmed down more than Castiel could have hoped for, keeping quiet and clutching at Mary's shoulder with his tiny hands. Castiel tapped the shard tenderly, grinning when the baby ducked his head, almost like he was shy.

"Uhhh ... it might be a good idea to avoid Raphael for a while. Both him and Michael need to know that things aren't quite normal at the moment."

Castiel's smile slipped slightly and he turned his attention to the archangel. "Please don't tell him about the bond."

Gabriel's features went a little stern and Castiel felt like everything was closing in around him, more than just the feeling of claustrophobia, but the addition of doubt and panic. From the way Gabriel was looking at him, Castiel knew that things weren't going to be working in his favour.

When did they ever.

"I have to tell him _something_ , Castiel. Not necessarily that your strength is the reason why the bond with your human is so peculiar, but I have to at least warn him not to touch the shard in the first place. It's better than getting you killed for inadvertently causing him harm."

Castiel looked back to Dean in the universal mist, frowning at the thought of what that could bring him. He knew this would involve questioning, no matter how much Gabriel told the other two archangels, which further meant that Castiel would have to lie should the topic leer onto that of Castiel's power and abilities, as Gabriel had mentioned he possessed before. Both archangels would easily be able to read his mind if they so wished, so that created yet another problem that was virtually impossible to avoid.

But Gabriel wouldn't have suggested such a thing if it wasn't the best option and Castiel didn't want anyone becoming hurt otherwise, even if he thought Raphael would deserve it.

"Okay," he said quietly, meeting Dean's eye and attempting to smile again, even if it felt wrong to even try; but with the baby watching him, he didn't want to seem at all discomforted. Humans were intelligent, and in spite of Dean's young age, Castiel wouldn't be surprised if the baby could understand.

"Right, well, anyway," the archangel mumbled, and a few more files were summoned to the table. "Before we actually talk about this, I think it might help for you to read some of these."

Castiel sighed at the prospect of adding more material to his list to read, given that Gabriel had initially come with the intent of conversation, but he nodded, waving a hand through the air to disperse the mist beside him.

 

*

 

The library became something of a sanctuary, with very few others visiting other than to file away a report. Castiel blocked out the majority of movement around him from anyone other than Gabriel, learning of everything that held historical importance in addition to developments in technology, and it was simple. There was nothing but the knowledge, general silence, and the warmth of Dean's soul-shard to keep him tranquil for the weeks that followed.

Dean was doing as well as he had done prior, his soul glowing bright, clearly dismissing the unclear disruption Gabriel had caused, and Castiel really was grateful for the company the child provided for him. He'd let the universal mist remain visible to the both of them some time ago, pleased when the baby watched quietly whilst observing the work Castiel was going over, almost as if he was interested. As each day passed, Castiel found it easier to pick out more and more differences between Dean and Claire, and the fact that Dean acknowledged his presence for far longer periods of time was one of them. It was actually rather comforting just knowing that the baby wasn't judging him, and Castiel knew he was going to miss the watchful stare once Dean reached the end of his first year. It would be too risky to leave the window open for equal viewing after that.

There had been cases in the past where angels had revealed themselves to humans, but Castiel wasn't overly fond of the idea of actually _greeting_ a human, even if they did share a bond. And anyway, it was unnecessary. He was much safer in Heaven where he could watch over the child properly. On earth, he wouldn't have the same ability to overview everything that was going on.

The sound of Dean sneezing had Castiel turning toward the mist abruptly in surprise. He adjusted Dean's blanket so that it covered his chest properly, preventing any kind of illness from taking hold in the apparent cold weather, before returning to the papers scattered about the table top. Gabriel had added several other files to the pile of which Castiel had to read; documents that talked of more admissions to an unknown place, and previous cases of virtues and their abilities from the past. Castiel tried not to find them interesting, focussing more on those _he_ considered to be important, but the brown files lay there, waiting.

It wasn't long before Castiel ran out of material to keep those kind of files at bay.

 

*

 

Dean didn't know whether to find the situation amusing or sad to observe, initially confused by the whole scenario. It really was weird to see how Cas was treating him, even if it was even weirder to actually see himself as a kid. He still found it a little unsettling that Cas had essentially wanted to kill him in the beginning of the whole bonding thing, but in a way, if Dean had been in the same position with no idea as to how things would have played out in the future, he would have probably been in the same mindset.

But this was the part that Dean had wanted to know about ever since he'd found out that Cas had looked after him: the reason why Cas had been told to stop. He knew that it had something to do with Raphael, and the whole strengthened bond ideal had to play _some_ kind of role in the whole thing. He couldn't help but worry about Castiel's safety, because there had been at least three years that Dean could recall as being the worst years of his life, and he wanted to know what Cas had been doing during that time. Cas had said he'd been told not to do anything, so did that mean he'd just sat around waiting till he was given permission to fall or something?

Anyway Dean expected to find all that out later. Right now, he was just amused by how obvious it was that Cas cared about Dean's younger self. The guy didn't let go of the soul-shard for a second, one hand constantly resting on its surface, and yeah, Dean kinda got the fact that Cas felt some sort if uncomfortable feeling when he wasn't touching it or something, and maybe their bond was stronger, but the touches were perpetual. Dean wasn't even sure if the amount of energy Cas was spending on him was necessary but he never seemed to stop; and Dean couldn't remember ever seeing Claire's soul as bright as his was, even if it was bragging. Castiel was just putting so much effort into it, and although Dean knew the angel's neck was on the line, it didn't stop him from noticing the differences between the way Cas had treated Claire's soul-shard with his own.

For starters, the just observing Castiel's hand gestures had that hot prickling feeling crawling over his skin whilst he watched the events play out. Seriously, the way Cas drew over the surface with his fingertips was almost sensual, even if it wasn't intended to be. Whether it was because Dean was purposely looking for anything that could back up that statement the other angels had said about Cas loving him in the first place or not he wasn't really sure, but at least with Claire he'd given her a little bit of a break every now and again.

This was _constant._

He didn't have a problem with it. He actually found it kind of adorable how unintentional such gestures were, and he was glad that Cas looked calmer for once. Maybe he wasn’t as happy as he'd been when he'd been looking after Claire, but that was to be expected what with all the shit he'd been through recently. The war had evidently taken its toll on him, and then there were all those file readings that definitely fucked with him more times than Dean could count already. Dean didn't really understand it himself, but that sort of information had basically been the final push to persuade Cas to try and kill himself, and he really didn't think it fair that Gabriel was still expecting so much of him. This whole virtue ideal had stressed Cas out even more than the initial prospect of war had, and even though Dean didn't know what that meant either, he figured it would all be explained later on.

He hoped as much anyway. So far, he'd found it kinda frustrating that every time Gabriel was about to discuss it with Cas, something happened to put it off for a longer period of time.

And to make it worse, Cas was avoiding reading over the damn files that would explain it all.

It was genuinely more climatic than the third season finale of Dr Sexy, and that was saying something.

There was a slight fuzziness to the images Dean was being shown, the replay of memories almost being put on pause as Cas pushed words across into his thoughts.

_Do you want me to skip ahead?_

Dean opened his eyes, smiling slightly when he found Cas staring intently back at him, his eyes bright in spite of the dark and his Grace making his skin appear even softer. He moved forward carefully, mindful of where Castiel's blade was held, to press even closer, slightly annoyed that during their time lying there, they'd moved apart. Their hands were still intertwined, and Castiel still had a wing across Dean's body, but it wasn't as warm, and Dean was finally acknowledging the lack of heat.

"If you're okay with it," he said quietly, pulling the comforter up to his chin with his free hand, before adjusting his position so his arm didn't feel as cramped beneath his weight and he could roll onto his back. Castiel rested his head on Dean's shoulder, trembling a little from the first touch of warmth, and Dean let go of Castiel's hand to stroke a hand through the angel's hair, pushing it from his forehead. “But I... I'm sorry. About everything that happened.”

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Dean. It wasn't your fault," Castiel whispered, fingertips touching lightly at Dean's solar plexus. "And it didn't hurt very much at all. It was more an effect of surprise than anything else."

"And anger, and irritation," Dean added, grimacing. "Seriously, dude, I don't blame you for how you felt. The way they treated you ... Jesus, I hate it. I fucking hate it."

"And you think I liked watching your father hurt you?"

Dean frowned, shaking his head. "I know you didn't, but it's not the same Cas. You had it way worse."

"Don't you dare say that!" Castiel blurted, sitting up and scowling at him. "There is a significant difference between being hurt by a stranger and a family member, and for your father to treat you like he did was unacceptable and most importantly _cruel_. I may not have had parents myself, Dean, but I know for certain there is something severely wrong when an adult abuses their child for problems they had brought upon themselves."

Dean avoided Castiel's stare, looking off to the side because he knew that Castiel was right. He just didn't like to think that Cas was dismissing his own abuse, even though it was far more extreme than anything Dean had had done to him.

"Look at me, Dean,” the angel said softly, dropping the blade to cradle his chin. "Please."

Dean glanced over timidly, turning his face into the touch as Castiel's palm moved to rest on his cheek.

"You were worth everything, okay? The pain, the torment - everything they did pushed me in this direction, and if they hadn't, I wouldn't be as happy as I am now," Castiel continued, dipping his head to fleetingly press their mouths together. "Bonding with you saved my life, and I don't care if you hate the way they treated me, because I would endure it all over again if I knew this would be the outcome."

"Cas ..."

Castiel grinned, kissing him with a little more force. "So how much do you want me to skip through? All that happened between reading over files and me finding out what I could do was a conversation with Raphael, and even then, all he said was for me to keep away from him."

Dean pushed up onto his elbows, resting his forehead against Cas' shoulder as the angel's fingers found their way to the top of his head, running through his hair slowly. "Did he hurt you, though? After Gabriel telling him all that stuff?"

Castiel laughed timidly. "No, he didn't. He thought he was risking his life from simply being in my company. He put me under surveillance instead, but that wasn't too bad. Those angels kept their distance because they still thought you a threat. It was quite amusing actually: how scared they were of you."

"Is that why they told you to stop looking after me?"

Castiel went a little quiet, his hand stilling and simply coming to a stop in its movements.

"No. That was because of something else. But it was much later on, Dean. You'll understand soon enough."

Dean nodded, pulling Castiel back down so they were laying side by side. "But can you explain this whole 'virtue' thing to me? It's a rank, right?"

Castiel hummed, his wing settling comfortably over the both of them once more. "A virtue is one of the more powerful kinds of angels, and they usually keep the universe balanced - they keep order. In my case, I was associated with Thursday, but the archangels never prescribed me duty or orders specific to my title. The angel of Thursday before me had been taught to use magic, but Raphael always said it would be too dangerous for me to carry out such a talent, so I kept to my responsibility of a guardian. Obviously, I couldn't observe the entire world when my main priority was you."

"Are you saying that you put me before the rest of the world?" Dean pressed, somewhat alarmed. There was no way he was more important than everyone else, and although the topic of importance had instigated their last argument, he still couldn't believe that Castiel would rank him so highly in terms of precedence.

"Of course I did. Michael took on the task of observing the earth because of the lack of virtues over the years, and he told me that he'd grown used to the duty, but I was the only one who could help _you_. It wouldn't have been fair for me to abandon our connection like that," Castiel murmured, nosing beneath Dean's chin. "And anyway, I liked you too much. By the time I found out what my responsibilities should have been, I had already intended to dedicate every moment to ensuring your good health."

Dean let himself smile, closing his eyes. "Is it selfish of me to say that I like that decision?"

Castiel let out another huff of laughter. "Then that would make two of us."

Dean grinned wider, feeling Castiel's feathers ruffle against his arm. He was trying to scrounge as much happiness as he could from this moment because he knew Castiel's story wasn't over yet. He didn't know where the marker was in the time line, but he could remember how Cas had looked the first time they'd met; rips in his clothes, and gouges on his chest, so unless Cas had been involved in another war, Dean was pretty damn worried as to how that had come about.

"Is it alright if I continue? I'd rather get this all out of the way now, as opposed to telling you the rest some other time."

"Yeah - yeah, fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't realise," Dean said hurriedly, making Castiel laugh again.

"No, it's fine. I just want to get it over with."

Dean understood perfectly. He was actually impressed with how well Castiel was faring, because so far, everything the guy had shown him was pretty messed up.

He could feel Castiel fumble around for the blade for a brief moment before the cold touch returned to his mind, pictures and sounds a blur before it was all coming into focus. Castiel was seated in his room again, the soul-shard on the desk and the universal mist directly in front of where he was seated. Cas wasn't looking at it though, apparently filling his time with more reading, only this didn't look like any of the files Cas had read over before. It looked more like a book, a firm cover and dozens of yellowish papers stored in the centre, so Dean could only assume it was old.

Castiel's boredom was clear, but apparently Gabriel had given him more to read, just so he was well versed on the topic of virtues. Dean actually found it all fairly interesting, even if Cas didn't see it that way, and it also brought to his attention the reasons why Raphael was scared of him, or whatever it was. Castiel basically had a _lot_ of power available to him, should he want to use it, and the amount of abilities he could master was fucking mental! Dean honestly didn't understand how Cas _wasn't_ excited by it, because the idea of manipulating more than just nature, but _space_ \- like the stars and the planets, and even the fucking _sun_ \- was absolutely incredible, and Dean was genuinely confused as to why Castiel hadn't tapped into that power for anything other than the bond. Even then, that had been accidental, but surely that amount of energy would have made him stronger during the war.

Why the fuck hadn't any of the archangels addressed it sooner? They could have saved years of bloodshed if they'd simply trained Cas specially, and in Dean's opinion, it was pretty fucking stupid of Raphael to demand for it to be kept secret, because yes: Castiel had shared that piece of information just seconds ago through the thought transaction, and it was the most ridiculous idea Dean had ever heard.

According to Cas, virtues were nowhere near as strong as archangels, and Gabriel had said that Castiel wasn't even a full on virtue anyway, so Raphael shouldn't have been kicking up as much fuss as he was. It was actually kind of suspicious in Dean's opinion: the whole ideal revolving around the angels that possessed a bit of power being 'admitted' to something or other, and now the archangel demanding that Castiel not use his additional energy for his own recreational purposes.

Raphael shouldn't have felt threatened by someone with less power than himself - especially someone like Castiel who had no intention of ever harming his own kin - and if the other two archangels were okay with it, then why the hell couldn't Cas embrace it? It was his power. He should be able to do whatever the fuck he wanted with it, more so when he had no bad motives.

Cas was ultimately harmless.

So yeah: Dean was a little more than simply pissed off with how Cas was being treated, and he hoped Cas had been seeing the same damn faults in what Raphael had been asking of him.

He watched as Castiel's forefinger dragged over the surface of the orb as he turned to another page, his thoughts completely off topic as he supposedly read over the information, and Dean wished he had access to the file himself, because Cas had completely lost interest, and now Dean couldn't hear about all the other awesome stuff virtues were capable of. Instead, Castiel was thinking about how he could stop Dean's younger self from fucking bursting into tears whenever he was hungry, and okay, it was kind of funny to think about, but right now Dean was way more interested in Castiel and his abilities. And it wasn't as if the version of Dean in the universal mist was crying, otherwise he'd be able to hear it - and he could honestly say he'd never found himself more irritating than he had over the past few hours he'd seen Cas look after him because _fucking hell_ : he was one whiny little shit. He was actually confused as to how Cas thought it friggin' _endearing_ , but whatever.

Castiel seemed to abandon the reading a few pages later, pushing it aside so he could focus entirely on the mist. The angel rested his chin in one of his palms as he continued to draw lazily over the soul-shard's surface, a smile pulling at his lips as he watched the events play out.

Dean always thought of these moments as Castiel's best moments; the times where he was so damn relaxed, and his expression displayed nothing but content, and Dean had to give the guy credit because it had to be somewhat difficult to muster some sort of happiness when everything around him was so hectic. He just never realised he'd had that much of an impact on Castiel's life to make the guy want to endure it all again so long as they could be together. _That_ was the crazy part.

But there were things that Dean was beginning to pick up on, more so from this bond than with either Claire or Edward, and that was the interaction. This had nothing to do with picking favourites in terms of members of charge, mainly because Dean had done enough of that kind of examining thing whilst he'd already had the chance, and this was more a maternal thing than anything else.

Cas wanted to have kids of his own.

The first time Dean had sort of noticed it, it was more a case of the angel just wanting to keep a baby safe. Cas wanted to _hold_ a baby in his arms just for that kind of experience that he'd known was impossible to achieve from Heaven, and it was actually quite depressing. Sure, holding a baby wasn't the most exiting thing to ever happen, but to someone who'd essentially been a parent without ever having had the chance; Dean understood why Cas wanted that experience so much.

The second time Dean began to notice anything was during Claire's childhood, around the time things began to get far worse for her family, and Dean could sense Castiel's want to provide physical and verbal comfort, which also would explain the way he'd responded to Dean's actions from the moment they'd first met.

And the biggest giveaway was now: Castiel was smiling wider than Dean could ever recall seeing in Heaven, as the angel watched Dean's younger self crawl toward him in the universal mist. It wasn't the image itself that made it so obvious, but the sudden surge of thoughts that had crossed the angel's mind at that moment in time; things like a want to praise and treat him for being 'so clever', as opposed to simply supplying warmth through the soul-shard. But then there was the touch of sadness that enveloped the thoughts regarding the aging process. Dean had already known after watching Cas look after Claire that after the kid's first birthday the little window thing they had going on would become one-way, and Castiel didn't want that - more so this time round, and the whole attachment thing became all the more clear.

Castiel wanted to experience the entirety of being a parent; there for the crawling, first steps, first words - all that stuff made him so happy until he remembered that he only had this kind of flexibility for a year, and even then he couldn't do everything the parents could. It was a sort of torment in a way, more so when Dean took in the fact that Cas thought he would never be permitted to visit earth.

Dean, personally, hadn't ever thought about having kids himself. He was only twenty-two and he had the rest of his life to think about that sort of thing - and it wasn't like he and Cas were in any position to start a family. Yeah, Cas had said the Gracial bond was similar to that of marriage, but the whole financial side of things played a major part, and again: he was still pretty young to be considering something like that! He hadn't even finished college!

That wasn't to say he _didn't_ want to go down the route of adopting at some point, but that was something he'd have to talk about with Cas first. Something like this was a massive step, and Dean wasn't afraid to admit that the thought kind of intimidated him, even if he had spent a lot of time caring for Sam when they were younger.

He tried to focus on what Cas was showing him, but now it was all he could think about. And the fact that he could see how well Castiel was treating his younger self made his fucking heart melt, because Cas was doing such a good job, and he was still smiling, and he would honestly be such a good parent. Even if Dean hadn't seen Cas physically handling a child, he could imagine just how gentle he'd be: attentive and careful, and he would be so damn sweet on them.

The whole situation seemed to get worse as the images Dean was being shown skipped forward to Dean's first birthday. One minute Castiel had eye contact with Dean's younger self, almost as in a form of goodbye, before the universal mist began to glow and the version of Dean in the centre began to look around blindly. It actually kind of hurt to watch, because Dean would have loved to have kept that form of contact over the years, and although he couldn't remember any of these moments himself, watching them now definitely made Dean wish Castiel hadn't had to go through with it.

Castiel was sending his apologies through the touches applied to the soul-shard; apparent soothing energy that didn't seem to do much in terms of keeping either of them calm, but then Mary was there, lifting Dean's younger self from the crib to hold him against her chest.

Castiel seemed tenser, looking away and abandoning the soul-shard for the first time since he'd allowed Gabriel to touch it once it had turned completely yellow again. Dean hadn't thought Cas would have been as upset as this, but it was heartbreaking! This bond was stronger than anything Cas had felt before, and after the whole recognition side of things and how they'd had more interaction than Cas had had with Claire, it _had_ to hurt. There was no way Cas would have been able to deal with that without wanting it to continue because Dean knew he would have hated it himself. He wouldn't have wanted to be the one responsible for giving up the only visible connection they'd had together.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Castiel muttered to himself, grabbing several sheets of paper and splaying them over the desk. His thoughts were a mess, the majority circling around the thought of how much simpler it would be if he'd never revealed himself in the first place.

The angel didn't write any such thing down though, keeping his notes neat and to the point, albeit a little spiteful. None of said comments were passed on Dean himself, more so the frustration encountered through their bond once the window thingy dispersed.

The memories skipped forward suddenly again, showing brief flashes of Dean growing through the years and how Cas had found his smile again. Whether or not Cas was missing out any crucial pieces of information he wasn't entirely sure, but things seemed to be going well. and it was actually kind of funny to see how flustered Castiel got when Dean was doing something that wasn't exactly safe. There were a few moments that Dean could count; moments where he risked things a little more without his parents there – one point in particular where he was hanging upside down from a tree branch – and Castiel was full-on panicking, trying to inflict fear through Dean's soul as some sort of last resort, but even then it didn't really do much.

Dean honestly didn't know Cas put up with it, or even why he even still liked Dean after all the shit he pulled. Only now did he realise just how much he'd put Cas in danger by doing that kind of stuff, and although he initially found the prospect quite amusing, now all he felt was pure guilt.

Castiel was working harder than necessary all because Dean had chosen to ignore his parents' warnings.

He was about to push an apology on through the thought transaction when the images paused completely, fabricating into a scene that Dean knew all too well.

“There are some things you need to be made aware of,” Cas murmured aloud, but Dean kept his eyes closed, swallowing thickly as he analysed every last detail as best he could. “But this is something I don’t mind covering another time when _you’re_ ready to address the issue. It’s your choice this time, Dean. Not mine.”

Dean knew reliving this moment with Cas there for comfort and support would make things easier, but he was still uncertain about it all. From that point in time, everything had seemed to take a turn for the worst, and the hardest part was that now he knew Cas would have been watching. Not only that, but now that he knew the actual strength of the connection they shared, he knew that Cas would have felt some kind of pain through the bond too, if any of the other times where Dean had been more than just a little upset were anything to go by.

But now all he could think about was how Castiel just wanted to get through all of this as fast as he could so they _didn’t_ have to talk about it later, and it really wouldn’t be fair to make Castiel suffer through it when they could easily just cover it now and get it over with forever.

“It’s okay,” he stated as calmly as could, even though his heart rate had definitely picked up in the few seconds he’d had to contemplate his decision. “Show me.”

 

*

 

Dean adjusted the latest addition to the Winchester family in his arms, cradling him carefully as he sat on the floor, and the baby smiled up at his older brother, reaching up to grab at Dean's face with his tiny hands. Dean simply laughed, ducking his head a little to appease Sam and keep him happy.

Mary was just a short distance away, resting on the settee with John beside her, smiling over at her two children as the two discussed their plans on how they intended to renovate their home.

Castiel sketched out the scene roughly, eager to capture it as quickly as possible before the entire family moved again. It was rare of him to find an opportunity such as this where the whole family were so peaceful. He was actually rather surprised that Dean hadn't done anything stupid yet, usually so pent up with energy and ever eager to go outside what with the recent snowfall.

"Don't you dare move," he murmured in the direction of the mist as he finalized each of their positions, making a start on their facial features. He was fairly accustomed to drawing Dean now, but the others weren't as simple - more so in the case of Sam, who had only been with the family for half a year. He was a surprisingly quiet baby, considering the fact he didn't have a guardian of his own, and Dean seemed to have taken quite a shining to him. Castiel had actually expected Dean to be a little bit resilient when it came to welcoming a new member to the family, but he was taking things extremely well. He always seemed to offer when it came to helping his mother care for the baby, spoon feeding Sam in the evenings before even thinking of starting his own meal, and Castiel was immensely proud of him.

By the time he'd finished the sketch, Dean was on the verge of falling asleep, his eyelids drooping in spite of his want to stay awake, and John had left with several friends, although their location hadn’t exactly been made clear. Castiel knew such an outing wasn’t abnormal for the man, and Mary had been encouraging him more and more to actually go out and do something social that didn’t revolve around work.

Sam had fallen asleep long ago, drooling slightly on Dean's bed shirt, not that the boy had noticed. It was only once Mary walked over to prise the baby from Dean's grip did he really take in his surroundings, grinning sleepily up at his mother as she held Sam in her arms.

"It's getting late, Dean. You should really be getting to bed."

"But I'm not tired yet," he whined, sitting up straighter, almost as if attempting to make his weariness less obvious. It didn't stop the boy from yawning though, making a wider smile break out on Mary's face.

She looked at him for a moment, adjusting Sam in her arms when the baby began to squirm in her hold. "Your father said he'd take you out to the garage tomorrow if you got a good night's sleep, remember?"

That definitely piqued Dean's interest, and his mouth fell open slightly as he attempted to recall the memory. Castiel found Dean's fascination with cars and the like relatively entertaining, especially because he was still quite young and already insistent upon the fact that he wanted to pursue the exact same line of work as his father.

"And I get to sit in the front seat of the car?"

"Yup," she said softly, and Dean grinned again, flashing his teeth to reveal the empty space where one had recently fallen out. But then he was scrabbling to his feet, kissing Mary quickly on the cheek as he ran off toward the staircase.

"Night, Mom!" He blurted cheerfully, apparently summoning a last burst of energy to prompt him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Castiel pulled a few more blank sheets of paper toward himself as Dean got settled beneath the covers of his bed, sending a bout of warmth through the soul-shard to make Dean feel even more relaxed. The boy was asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow, his mind filled with pleasant dreams whilst Castiel went about starting a new illustration.

This had become something of a habit: drawing the child whenever possible. It was very rare for Castiel to receive other tasks to occupy his time with, and Gabriel's visits were far less frequent these days. Watching Dean and sketching yet more images were the only real things he could consider hobbies, but Castiel liked the simplicity of his requirement and the jobs he was responsible for. No one of real significance had passed comment on how Dean would grow and succeed in life, so Castiel was definitely more relaxed than he’d been in months. Having not left his room allowed him to avoid anything that could potentially set him ill at ease, and although he had ventured out on the odd occasion to receive any files Gabriel wanted examining, he could do everything in the comfort of his own company. No one questioned what he was researching, or bothered him with insults, and things were becoming easier to handle.

The pain had abandoned him.

Castiel stretched his wings for a few seconds as he altered his position on his chair, crossing his legs on the wider part of the seat. Until he’d seen Dean seat himself in such a way more recently, he hadn’t ever considered it to be comfortable. Now it was one of his more accustomed positions for the moments where he knew he’d be seated for long periods of time, and although he had to hunch over his desk to reach all of his drawing materials, he preferred it.

There were dozens of sheets decorating the floor and surface of his desk, and although Castiel had always been on top of the mess, he usually waited several days before sweeping them together into yet another collection to record Dean’s aging. Already he had more folders full than he had with Claire, but Dean wasn’t as … middling. He was far more energetic, lively and outgoing, and capturing such static movement in the form of illustration was something Castiel was getting used to, as infuriating and difficult as it was to draw the boy when the hyperactivity was near constant.

But it was his personality that Castiel was capturing – the boisterous characteristics so aptly demonstrated through his actions – and that was something he’d never really observed with Claire. He hadn’t been able to really better his skills when watching over her, but he owed that to the era and the way society had been viewed at the time. The twentieth century seemed to allow people to be a lot freer with their wants, and people didn’t seem as restricted. Of course, after reading over the files designated to each continent in the world, he had observed that not everywhere was the same, and even in America there were several issues regarding freedom, in spite of it being regarded as ‘the land of the free’, but yes: times had definitely changed.

Castiel had had plenty of time to research and learn of every slight alteration between this era and the last one he’d experienced, so the differences between each century were no longer intimidating or alarming. There were certain changes to the planet that he wasn’t strictly pleased with, but he didn’t live there. It didn’t affect him, so in turn: it didn’t matter.

Castiel scanned Dean’s mind briefly just in case the boy encountered any nightmares whilst his dreams played out because those had been rather frequent as of late. Castiel imagined it was down to something the boy had seen on the television because the images were far too intricate and solid in consistency to be a simple creation of the mind. Castiel wasn’t belittling Dean’s intelligence in any way, but the darker thoughts had to have been prompted by _something_ , and it was rare for Castiel to pay attention to what the boy actually watched on the peculiar little box.

He could replace the more disturbing images with something that would do anything but frighten the child, but it was difficult to pin point the source of such a nuisance when it crept into the majority of Dean’s dreams beneath a cover of regularity. One moment Dean’s dreams were fine, untouched, and the next the darkness twisted horror into every unintended thought, scaring the child in ways that Castiel had barely discovered how to handle. Manipulating the boy’s mind was something he didn’t want to do, recognising that it was bad enough forcing Dean’s dreams to encircle something pleasant as often as possible, but he knew that there had to be other ways he could erase the nightmare altogether.

Castiel sighed, glancing into the universal mist so he could ensure Dean’s comfort. He adjusted the heavy blanket that had been added recently for the winter months to follow, allowing it to rest naturally over his form, rather than tucking it closer to his sides.

The sudden rumble of noise emitted from the lower level of the house had both Castiel and Dean jolting, the boy abruptly wakened and incredibly dazed as he sat up to look around his darkened room, and Castiel allowed Dean to remain conscious, unsure of whether he should really be involved in such matters. He couldn’t detect anything _bad_ , and Dean wasn’t irritated or anything of the sort, clambering lethargically out of bed to wander over to the doorway.

The hallway was still lit, and Dean peered out almost cautiously, worrying his lower lip between his teeth before bounding back over toward his bed to hide beneath the sheets. Castiel attempted to calm the sudden surge of fear that filled Dean’s form, images of dark figures with yellow eyes contaminating every peaceful thought Dean had been relying upon until that moment, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to vanquish the nightmare forever, allowing Dean to sleep peacefully without even the least daunting of sounds to wake and disrupt his prior relaxation.

The sound came again, and Castiel forced as much calming energy into Dean’s form as possible, willing Dean to fall back asleep whilst he took a look around himself.

He couldn’t venture very far from Dean’s form – just a few rooms at most, but he was able to shift the universal mist as far as the stairs, giving him a view over the banister and down at the floor below.

Castiel remained observing the location for a few more moments, caressing Dean’s soul-shard timidly as he waited. This was the third time that week that he’d had to venture out onto the landing in the middle of the night, purely because Dean’s thoughts had begun to supply him with his own sense of doubt and worry, but he knew he shouldn’t have let such noises play with his mind.

Nightmares weren’t a part of reality. Dean didn’t have to be afraid.

 

*

 

It was the scream that Dean remembered better than anything: his mother’s voice cutting through the silence and stirring up Sammy in the room next door. He remembered the cries that followed, the light sobs through the walls as Sam began to wail, and the darkness as Dean had rushed through to his brother’s room, closing the door to keep them both hidden.

Sharing Castiel’s memories made everything a hell of a lot worse.

Dean could see both instances; his younger self hiding out in the nursery to protect his baby brother, and then there was Castiel: falling from his chair as he tried to stand up, before he was rushing out of his chamber door and screaming at the top of his lungs for Gabriel’s help.

It was like Dean was watching everything in slow motion, Castiel’s actions having lost their usual gracefulness as he continued to tear his way past the angels crowded in the hallway, red-faced as he burst into the library, calling out again for the archangel to hear him.

He’d never seen Castiel like this before. He’d seen anger and fear, but never like this. This was stronger than that, and even the world around him seemed to quake with some invisible force.

“GABRIEL!” Castiel yelled again, looking around desperately before taking off back down the hall toward the Gardens.

Dean could feel the panic swell in his chest at the mere memory of what was to follow, the sight of the universal mist doing nothing to better things as Castiel’s view allowed him to view the exterior of the room, the dark silhouette waiting outside the nursery door. Castiel must have warded it through some method or another because when the figure reached for the handle, he was repelled backwards forcefully into the banister, toppling over the side and crashing to the lower levelled floor. He could hear the younger version of himself start to cry in addition to Sam’s wails, and he could detect the combination of infuriation and fear surge to the forefront of Castiel’s senses, the worry because of his inability to aid either of their emotions in that moment in time, too busy trying to track down the archangel for help.

The longer he spent barrelling around in search of Gabriel, the worse the anxiety got; only Dean _knew_ there would have been more sensations than that. He _knew_ Castiel would have been hurting just as much as he was, only it was probably worse because he was the only one who could actually do anything to help; and even then, he still seemed to require the aid of an archangel to fix the situation.

But Cas was freaking the fuck out with all this chaos and danger and whoever the fuck it was that had been standing outside the nursery door, because it sure as hell hadn’t been Dean’s dad.

 _What the hell’s going on?_ He pressed forward urgently, watching the way Castiel tripped again as he rushed through the Gardens, cutting open his forearms on the jagged stone path leading to the Tree of Life. The angel didn’t even bother healing himself, concentrating every aspect of his Grace on the soul-shard in spite of its apparent uselessness, enhancing the fright in addition to Castiel’s exhaustion, before he was slamming into Michael, inadvertently letting go of the soul-shard and causing it to launch over the grass turf.

Castiel didn’t even apologise to the archangel, going on to shout at him with pleas and broken explanations as he encouraged the universal mist to reside within Michael’s line of sight.

There were two words that grasped Dean’s attention more than any others, the rest of the sentence lost to him as Castiel rambled on hurriedly about the issue, and it most certainly put things into a different perspective; into a more _frightening_ perspective, because if his mother had been _murdered_ – by a fucking _demon_ , no less – then had he been at risk all this time? Had _Sam_ been at risk all this time – more so at the point where Castiel hadn’t been able to care for Dean?

And did that mean they were at risk now; with Castiel essentially powerless without his blade and nothing but an archangel watching from Heaven?

Was _this_ the reason why Castiel was suffering? A _demon_?!

Castiel hadn’t been able to detect anything – he hadn’t been able to sense any danger on the night Dean’s mother was killed – so what if Gabriel couldn’t? What if this happened again, and just like in this instance, the angels were too late to prevent anyone from dying?

Dean watched as Michael called to several other angels, requesting them to locate both Gabriel and Raphael for aid, and Dean tried to shut out the images as the screams cut through his thoughts again: the sound of his mother suffering as that creature – that sick son of a bitch – returned to the bottom of the stairs, starting his ascent.

He’d never seen the body. He’d never seen his mother afterwards in anything but the few pictures that they’d managed to scavenge from the fire; their photo albums and the like having been kept in a bureau just outside of the kitchen in the hallway, destroyed before the firemen could put out the flames.

But he could remember the description his father gave on those nights he drank too much. He could remember how it only added to the nightmares: images he constructed on his own, of cremated skin and crippled limbs, a burnt face twisted in an expression of pure pain that still resembled his mother.

Castiel clearly remembered this fact, letting the memories fade as Michael began to manipulate the world within the universal mist, and Dean took in a shuddering breath, keeping his eyes closed as Castiel’s fingers raked through his hair and the wing resting over Dean’s body began to tremble.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered, moving up on the mattress to kiss his forehead several times over. “I’m so sorry.”

 


	17. Captured Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my eyes are burning and I'm sick to death of typing on my stupid fucking kindle, but I finally sorted out a schedule. This will be updated fortnightly every Wednesday from here on out (because I've chosen to continue another fanfic alongside this one)

  
All my nightmares escaped my head  
Bar the door, please don't let them in  
You were never supposed to leave  
Now my head's splitting at the seams

_Radical Face_

 

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t the nightmare Dean was used to. It wasn’t something that he could chase away with reminders of reality, because this _was_ real. It was everything he’d grown up believing was non-existent and ridiculous; everything Mary had assured him _wasn’t real._

He curled into Castiel, hiding in the mass of feathers and delicate limbs, desperate to shut out the fears he’d worked so hard to compress: smoke and heat and the shouting that had echoed through his skull for months afterward; the firemen that had ripped Sam from his arms and held Dean like he was just as helpless and weak as his baby brother.

He’d been useless, staring out through his tears at the extinguished remnants of the kitchen as he’d been carried to the front garden: ash and blackened furniture; darkness against darkness.

The silhouette he’d always considered to be a trick of the lighting.

He remembered it all more clearly now: the same figure he’d seen on his way home from school – the fucking _demon_ that had lingered on the outskirts of the park when he’d visited with his mom.

It had never seemed real, the creature disappearing within a few seconds of being noticed, like a shadow burned out by the light.

But Dean had never been more frightened than he was now.

He’d only recently found out that demons existed, so it had never been _this_ terrifying: the knowledge that these creatures were disguised like any other person crowding to the forefront of his thoughts again. Yes, Dean had considered it, but he’d never really known what they were capable of – he’d always thought that with Cas, he’d be absolutely fucking fine! The angel had essentially saved him from Meg before, and Dean had never seen her again, but to know that Cas had been watching over him when a demon had set their home alight had all sorts of cruel insinuations twining with the fear.

Castiel was clutching at him, the blade long since abandoned on the mattress so that his hands could stroke Dean’s hair and wipe the tears away from his face; all those maternal gestures that were way more obvious now. Dean didn’t care. He embraced the touches, pressing back against the angel’s palm as his own hands grasped at Castiel’s feathers, pulling them closer to make things feel that little bit safer.

But they weren’t safe. He knew that now. They were so fucking far from being safe, because the threat was only _less_ likely while they were in the house – while they had Gabriel watching over them – so what the fuck were the dangers like when they _weren’t?_ Dean had already met a demon; he’d already been injured, and Cas had had all sorts of shit happen to him, but he’d never thought that that at any point something more severe would occur! Dean hadn’t done anything to attract that sort of attention to himself, and yeah, maybe now he and Cas were involved, but before there’d been no instigator. Meg had wanted to make a deal, and had basically gotten all pissy when Dean declined, but the demon from his nightmares hadn’t been aggravated at _all!_

And he doubted that Cas had done anything to piss the demon off personally because all he’d seen the angel do was sit in either his room or the library, doing nothing but reading and caring for the soul-shard.

Dean knew he shouldn’t have even been considering the fact that it might be down to Cas’ fault, because the angel hadn’t known. Dean’d been able to hear every last thought that had raced through Castiel’s mind at that point in time – the utter upset that had seeped through the link and made Dean ache more than he could ever remember, because he hadn’t ever considered the fact that Cas had risked his fucking existence by protecting Sam at the same time! Dean knew it was so fucking harsh to want to pin the blame on Cas when Cas hadn’t been permitted to help in the first place, but he was fucking amazed that Cas had put all of that on the line to protect both Dean and his brother, _forcing_ the image of Sam into his younger self’s mind so that the kid would be protected without the cause seeming intentional. Cas had been so fucking clever about it; putting them in the same room so he could care for them both, and then it was like Cas stopped giving a damn about whether he was breaking any rules by helping because he’d started directing energy toward Sam’s soul manually.

Something like helping a family shouldn’t have even been considered _bad_ because surely it would have actually been beneficial to the member of charge if they were all happy? It wasn’t like Cas would have disregarded him as the priority or anything, but it really fucking hurt to know that Cas hadn’t been able to help everyone, all because of the stupid rules put in place to avoid distraction.

But this had nothing to do with what Cas was and wasn’t permitted to do. This was about the terrifying bastard with yellow eyes who’d essentially stalked his family for months, because as far as Dean knew, there’d been no incentive. Dean may have seen the demon around, but they’d never actually interacted, more so just a second or two of eye contact before the creature vanished into thin air. He’d never had the chance to point it out to his mom or start toward it, but there’d always been that voice in his head telling him not to. His mom had always warned him about strangers, and a creep with yellow eyes was way more frightening than anyone else that had ever passed by.

“I should have paid closer attention,” Castiel whispered, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead again. “He’d been there all along and I didn’t know!”

Dean moved up hurriedly, wiping at his cheeks before kissing Castiel hard on the lips. “Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself,” he growled, kissing Cas again. “I will kick your fucking ass if you say this is your fault!”

“But –”

Dean repeated his gesture a little more forcefully, cupping Castiel’s face afterward to brush away the angel’s own tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I saw the whole thing, Cas. You couldn’t have done anything at all.”

He was trying to sound as sincere as possible, but his voice warbled as more tears began to roll down his face, his chest clenching when Castiel’s lower lip trembled. He closed his eyes, pushing their foreheads together as he tried to stop himself from crying, and the angel clutched at him tighter, fingers raking through his hair as the wings continued to quiver over Dean’s body. Dean let out a shuddering breath before sliding an arm beneath Castiel’s head to pull him closer, and Cas moved in an instant, nosing beneath Dean’s chin and pressing a dampened cheek against Dean’s neck.

“I-I’m sorry. I wanted to help her, but we’re generally forbidden from helping and my power couldn’t reach her within the restri –”

“You don’t have to apologise,” Dean stressed, dropping his temple to the top of his angel’s head. It made him uncomfortable with the way Cas wanted to take the blame, because all Castiel had been doing was his job. It was the demon that had done the real harm – as well as the angels that had forbidden the aid in the first place.

But it made him question whether things were fine now. Like, Dean had to wonder if Meg had targeted him because of his link with to Cas. She’d known about him even though they’d never met, and Cas didn’t seem to know who the hell she was either, so unless they were just attracted to people with minor wants, had they known about Cas? 

When Dean had watched Castiel fight in the war, the only demon that seemed to pay him any attention was the one with white eyes and Dean wasn’t entirely sure as to whether she’d been killed or not. Cas hadn’t exactly thought about it again, preoccupied with other matters, but was that the reason? Cas’ blatant differences wasn’t something you just forgot – especially when all the other angels aside from the archangels and elders had white feathers. 

But that girl hadn’t been the one who’d broken into their home. _This_ demon had yellow eyes, not white, or black, or whatever other coloured eyes demons could possess, so like Cas, it was a pretty conspicuous difference.

“Who was that?” He ground out, feeling Castiel’s fingers move down to press hard against his lower back. He ignored the slight ache it produced, waiting more intently for Cas’ response because the guy had to have some sort of clue as to who they were.

_“Azazel,”_ Castiel spat, and Dean couldn’t remember ever hearing Cas sound so spiteful – even after seeing the majority of his memories – but he understood the reasoning behind it. This _Azazel_ person would have made things far more difficult for the angel, given the fact that Cas had been sharing Dean’s pain through the bond, and this event in particular had to have been fairly hard for him to cope with.

“You don’t have to worry about him hurting either you or Sam though,” Castiel muttered. “We took care of it.”

Castiel’s words still retained that bitter tone, slightly muffled against Dean’s skin, and Dean tried to seek comfort in what Cas was saying.

“You killed him?”

Castiel’s fingers stopped pressing into Dean’s back, rubbing the muscle almost apologetically. 

“There are worse penalties than death.”

Dean was both confused and somewhat irritated that the demon had, as he understood it, avoided the death penalty for what he’d done. It was different to a human death, because in any other situation Dean wouldn’t be on board with the whole killed-for-a-crime ideal, but this was a _demon!_ They were the epitome of evil, and Dean had seen Cas slaughter dozens of them during the war, so it wasn’t like it’d be some new task for the angel to fulfil. It shouldn’t have been difficult for him at all!

“Well what happened to him then? How can you make sure he won’t hurt us if he’s not _dead?”_ Dean blurted, feeling Cas go tense in his arms.

“There are … chambers in Heaven. They’re not as elaborate as those in Hell but the equipment we have is just as damaging – especially to the likes of a demon,” Castiel answered, his voice attaining a certain blank tone as opposed to the fiercer approach before. “Raphael didn’t permit physical harm because he didn’t think the crime of a few human deaths was deserving of the torment the others had in mind.”

Dean had to think over what Castiel had said, slightly anxious as to what he actually meant. For starters, he was saying this demon had killed more people than just Dean’s mom, and then he was saying that Raphael thought that torture would be _excessive?_ The archangel actually thought that someone who murdered several humans didn’t deserve to suffer for it!

“What did you do instead?” He pressed, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears away with the back of his hand.

Cas’ palm was brought around to Dean’s chest, his fingers stretching out to touch at his solar plexus, even if all he’d sense was negativity.

“He will receive the rest of eternity in silence,” Castiel said softly. “In Heaven, of course. Like I said: he won’t be able to hurt you.”

“But why silence? That’s hardly a punishment!”

He couldn’t help but be pissed off that the demon hadn’t gotten anything worse than silence. _Silence,_ for Christ’s sake! That wasn’t even a fucking punishment!

“It is to someone who’s every action was performed with the intent of seeking attention. I could tolerate it, but demons are very different in comparison to angels. The demons we’d tormented using this method in the past seemed to reach a stage of insanity, and I’m fairly sure if such a punishment was issued to those on earth, it would be far more effective than that of the death penalty,” Castiel murmured. “Some people thrive off of the response they receive, but if they don’t get a response, where do they attain their entertainment? You humans supply prisoners with all kinds of things to pass their time, or you provide them with the release of death when they could genuinely atone for their sins in a way that would ensure they thought about their wrongdoing.”

Dean could vaguely remember hearing Cas say the same thing the first time he’d gotten pissed, spouting all that stuff about American government and their policies and basically how ineffective everything was. He’d thought it amusing at the time, but he hadn’t actually stopped to consider just how dark that ideal was.  The idea of prison was off-putting enough as it was without the thought of no communication, because that really would drive people insane. Obviously, some crimes were worse than others, and some people weren’t necessarily deserving of a life sentence of silence, but for a murderer – for someone who had purposely gone out of their way to take someone’s life – Dean could definitely see that as a reasonable punishment.

He lowered his hand to cover Castiel’s own, squeezing it gently when Cas kissed his throat. “Do angels do that often then?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked quietly, and Dean could feel more tears drip against his bare skin.

“Torturing demons.”

He could hear Castiel swallow and the fingers flexed in his hold. “Uhhh, no. N-not very often at all. I had to read up on Azazel’s known history to make it an appropriate case beforehand.” There was a pause and Castiel shifted a little. “I guess you could say it was why so many rumours about my feelings for you were instigated.”

_That_ was the reason? Because Cas wanted to ensure protection? Dean thought it absolutely ridiculous that they would discriminate Castiel further purely because he’d taken extremities when it came to keeping Dean safe – and even then it was because Cas knew if Cas had fucked up the bond, he would have probably been killed. 

Dean doubted Raphael’s words had been anything but promises. The archangel had been criticizing every single Goddamn action, and Dean didn’t know what the ‘pit’ was, but the mere mention of it around any other angel had them practically shitting themselves.

Then again, Cas keeping Dean safe didn’t even seem to be revolving around such a selfish reason. Judging by Castiel’s earlier thoughts, the angel was more concerned about Dean’s own life coming to an end from an inability to care for him more than anything else, but that was how a guardian _should_ have been! They were responsible for a human life, and even if Dean still didn’t agree with the idea of the lack of choice behind being assigned a member of charge, when someone had another person’s life in their hands, they should have been as cautious as possible!

Dean brought Castiel’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the angel’s palm gently. The slight fluttering of Castiel’s wings was the only sign that Cas was a little bit more comfortable with the atmosphere, but Dean still had so many questions. He felt more aware of the dangers now, and although Cas had claimed that Dean and Sam were protected, not once did he say that he himself was safe from harm. Dean had seen Cas go through a lot over the past few weeks since his fall, and there were so many individual factors that had made his health so much worse. Dean was _sick_ of seeing Cas suffer, and if he could prevent anything bad ever happening to him again, then he was going to ask as many questions as necessary.

He didn’t want someone else he loved to die.

“Are you okay with everything though, Dean?” Castiel sniffed, his thumb brushing over Dean’s upper lip. “I … I know this can’t be easy for you, and I’m sorry I continued the conversation. We can move on whenever you’re ready, but that was the part I was most worried about in terms of showing you.”

Dean shuffled down so that they could be face to face again, opening his eyes and kissing Castiel’s palm once more before letting go completely. Cas was still crying, but he looked as if he was trying to smile, the tears dripping from the bridge of his nose onto Dean’s arm, and Dean reached out tenderly, brushing them away as carefully as he could. Castiel smiled wider at this, moving his hand from Dean’s mouth to trace the backs of his fingers over Dean’s cheek.

“Did you ever find out why he did it?” Dean whispered, relaxing at the touch of Castiel’s thumbs beneath his eyes, wiping away his tears once more.

Castiel’s smile slipped, replaced with a prominent frown. “Azazel went after families,” Castiel stated, looking to his fingers as opposed to meeting Dean’s gaze. “Although it later came to my attention that your family had been singled out by one of my brethren deliberately.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly to stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks again.

“Are you telling me that an angel hired this demon to kill my mom?”

_“Several_ angels planned for your entire family to be murdered, Dean – you included,” Castiel added timidly, and Dean rolled onto his back, drawing his hand away from Cas’ cheek to cover his own eyes. 

“Why the fuck would they do something like that?!” Dean cried, feeling Cas rise up beside him on the mattress, a hand settling over his soul again. “We didn’t do anything – my _mom_ didn’t do anything!”

“Michael wouldn’t tell me why,” Castiel stated, his tone laced with sadness and hurt. “He just told me my brethren would be dealt with.”

Dean hastily snatched Castiel’s hand away from his solar plexus, sitting up to keep Cas’ hand at bay, realizing what was going on.

“Stop it, you fucking idiot! Why the hell would you want to make things harder for yourself?”

“I’m the reason why you’re hurting, Dean. I _caused_ that feeling ..."

“You didn’t cause it! _They_ did! All those bastards that thought it would be funny to try and assassinate my fucking family!”

Castiel stared at him with those wide, watery eyes, his lower lip trembling again, and Dean let go of Castiel’s wrist abruptly with the knowledge that he could potentially be hurting the guy.

He rubbed at his brow as he avoided the angel’s gaze. “Shit, Cas – I didn’t mean to shout at you like that. And I’m sorry if I hurt you, I just … it’s difficult.”

“N-no, it’s okay. I, uhhh …” the angel trailed off, and when Dean looked up, Castiel was clutching at the bridge of his nose, his skin slightly flushed.

“Cas? You okay?” He asked nervously, wiping at his face before moving closer.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry."

Dean stared at him a little longer, reaching out to touch Cas' forehead with the backs of his fingers.

"You feel a bit warm, Cas. Do you need to call Gabriel?"

“I … I need some air. It’s … humid in here,” Cas breathed, backing away to rise from the bed.

Dean watched cautiously as Castiel stood on shaky legs, scouring the angel’s expression for any signs of distress, before the guy was doubling over, making a sharp, strangled noise as he dropped to his knees.

“Cas?!” He blundered, throwing back the covers as he moved to help. Castiel’s wings flared wide, trembling as they went to settle on the carpet, and Dean moved quickly, dropping down next to him on the floor. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t look at me!” Castiel choked, covering his face with his palms. He made another one of those harsh noises, his form convulsing as the sobs wracked through him.

Dean didn’t know what to do, unsure of whether it was a headache or something to do with his wings, but then he saw the slightest trail of blood seeping from between Castiel’s fingers, and he blanched, surging forward to take hold of Cas’ wrists.

“You need to let me see, Cas! What did you do?” He cried, watching carefully when the angel’s wings lifted up into the air, making a heavy noise as one of them smacked against the bed frame.

“My blade,” Castiel wept, dropping down to his elbows. “I need my blade!”

Dean moved as fast as he could, tearing the comforter from the bed and dumping it on the floor before racing around to the other side to move the pillows.

“Where the fuck did you put it? Did you take it down with you?” Dean rushed out, grabbing the comforter again to shake it flat.

“I left it on the mattress!” 

Dean dropped to his knees, scouting out beneath the bed in case it had rolled under. He was beginning to panic because Castiel was in hysterics and the blood had begun to run down his forearms, soaking into the carpet. Dean pushed away all the cabling and wires from his old game consoles to clear out from underneath, his heart beating frantically in his chest and tears streaming down his face because he knew _exactly_ what was happening.

He’d just always hoped he’d been wrong.

“Pray to Gabriel!” He blurted, pulling out shoeboxes filled with utter crap even though he _knew_ the blade couldn’t have travelled that far back on its own. No one had fucking touched it!

“Dean, I –”

“Just tell him what’s wrong!”

Castiel’s prayer started up instantaneously; short bursts of words with huge gasping breaths at the end of each sentence as Cas continued to hyperventilate, and Dean cursed once he’d dug everything out, not the slightest glimpse of silver amongst the mess.

He pushed back up onto his feet so he could go to sit beside Castiel, his hands trembling when he reached out to try and pull Castiel’s away from his face again. They were dripping with blood now, the skin stained scarlet, and Dean could feel the bile rise in his throat when he realised exactly where Cas was bleeding from.

Blood had always made him feel queasy, but eyes were another matter entirely. Something as serious as this – something that had caused Cas to cry fucking tears of blood – had him on the verge of being sick, and yes: part of him was grateful Cas hadn’t let him see, but he _needed_ to know how severe it was – especially if they couldn’t use the blade to heal him of the damage.

Cas began to grit out the words of his prayer, jaw clenched as his breathing picked up and his form began to shake even more, and Dean felt completely helpless, unable to do anything but sit and watch, because he didn’t want to risk hurting Cas when something so traumatic was affecting the angel. Not only that, but he didn’t even know what he _could_ do. Looking at Castiel’s eyes wasn’t going to help as much as Dean _wanted_ it to, and Dean wasn’t gonna go poking around in case he made things worse!

He let go of Castiel at the distinct sound of wings beating down against the ground, looking to the side to find Gabriel dropping down beside him, taking in the grim, and actually pretty fucking frightening, expression on the archangel’s face.

“W-what’s wrong with him?” Dean stammered, shuffling back when Gabriel rested his palm on the crown of Castiel’s head, making the angel freeze immediately before collapsing forward onto the carpet with his arms cramped beneath him, unmoving.

“Cas!” Dean yelped, touching at the angel’s shoulder gently to roll him onto his side. The blood continued to drip from Castiel’s closed eyelids, and he lunged forward hurriedly, sliding his hands beneath Castiel’s arms to pull him closer and examine his face properly. _“Cas!”_

“He can’t hear you,” Gabriel murmured, pressing two fingers to Castiel’s forehead and making Castiel’s body glow with the pure white he’d been lacking over the past few hours. Cas didn’t even have the natural glow of his Grace to identify as to whether he was actually alive or not. 

“He’s healing.”

Dean looked to the archangel through bleary eyes. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Gabriel avoided his line of sight, keeping his gaze trained on Castiel’s face. “I don’t know why the hell this is happening to him. Every time I come back here the symptoms change.”

Dean wiped at his eyes with the back of his wrist, readying himself to argue with the archangel, even if Cas had gotten pissed at him for bringing it up a while ago. This was something he _needed_ to assure himself of, even if Cas would refuse to believe it. Something like this – manipulation or whatever it was – could ultimately affect Sam, and there was no way he wanted to see his baby brother writhing in as much pain as Cas had in the past.

“His blade vanished as soon as he needed it,” Dean mumbled, sniffing. “He was showing me his past and we stopped to talk about it. He’d put it down on the bed – right behind me; it was behind my fucking back – but when he started …” He swallowed thickly, placing a hand over Castiel’s heart to seek out that slow pulse. “I know you said you’re watching over us, but things don’t just disappear like that, and after being shown exactly how he was treated in Heaven, I wanted to ask if there was a chance that someone could be tormenting him. Again.”

“I’ve told you before: no one can get in and out of this house without me knowing.”

“I _know_ what you said, but I think I’d notice too if someone just came strolling into the room to take Cas’ belongings,” Dean stressed, glancing back down at Castiel’s face. “And the exact same thing happened last time: his weapon going missing just when he needed it most.”

Gabriel was quiet for a few moments more, withdrawing his hand from where it rested over Castiel’s temple. “How’s he been over the past few days?”

Dean could feel the tears drip from his jaw line, wiping them away when they fell to Cas’ bare chest. 

Things had been great – perfect, even! It was the sort of atmosphere Dean had _always_ wanted, and to think that he’d actually managed to go on a fucking date with the guy! He hadn’t been on a date in years, and just being with Cas had made things so much better. He’d never been this happy with anyone before, and now everything was crumbling around him again because he knew what the risks were. He could remember the promise Gabriel had failed to keep.

“He finally opened up to me, y’know,” Dean said softly, attempting a smile when Castiel’s wing fluttered a little. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as relaxed as he’s been over the past week – not to mention _happy._ You should have seen him on Christmas; all day he was smiling. All fucking day. I just …”

He bit his lower lip, dipping his head so that he could rest his cheek against Castiel’s temple. The angel shifted in Dean’s hold, the glow around his body dying down as he curled toward Dean’s chest; his wings knocking against Dean’s shoulders, but still his eyes kept closed, the blood having vanished after Gabriel’s healing procedure in the same way Cas had cleaned himself when his wings had broken free weeks ago. “You promised he’d never get hurt. The first time we met, you said I didn’t have anything to worry about – that he wouldn’t die before I did – but he’s suffering so damn much, and I know for a fact that humans don’t bleed through their fucking eyes without a severe head injury, and as far as I know, he hasn’t ha –”

“At what point in his history did you get up to?” The archangel interrupted, and Dean reached for Castiel’s nearest wing, running his fingers through the dark feathers for comfort.

“Mom had just died,” he answered bitterly, closing his eyes tight when they began to sting again. He still had so many questions on the matter, but it’d be so fucking selfish of him to bring those up when Cas could potentially be dying. Dean had read up on the effects of headaches a while back, just to see if there was anything natural instigating all the pain, but he’d hardly registered the tears of blood symptom from those who suffered from haemola-something. He hadn’t thought things would ever reach that sort of extremity with Gabriel stopping by on a regular basis to cure the guy of it.

“Did he not get any further than that? At all?”

“It wasn’t exactly an easy experience!” Dean snapped, pulling Cas closer. “Do you know how fucking terrifying it is to find out that after _all these years_ it was a Goddamn _demon_ that murdered her?!”

The archangel fell quiet and Dean scowled, because Gabriel had avoided the fucking question. He’d changed the subject to something he _knew_ Dean would have issues with, because he’d probably been aware of all the arguments in the past and how sensitive a subject it was. 

Dean didn’t want to talk about it with anyone other than Cas.

Castiel shifted in his arms again, wings beating down against the floor almost in a state of agitation. 

When Gabriel had said Cas was healing, Dean hadn’t expected the state of unconsciousness to be as short as it was, so when Castiel sat up abruptly with a terrified look in his eyes, Dean was more than a little surprised.

“Dean!” The angel yelped, before he was forcing himself forward and throwing his arms around Dean’s shoulders, pushing them backwards to the floor. Dean took in a sharp breath moments before it was crushed out of his lungs, and he tried not to let his pain show from his inability to breathe when Castiel started crying again, merely hoping that they were regular tears as opposed to those of blood. He cupped the back of Castiel’s head with a palm, embracing the angel’s weight as he basked in the relief, and he encouraged himself to smile when he felt feathers brush his face.

“Hey,” he croaked in response, pressing his lips to the side of Cas’ neck as the memory of the first time Gabriel visited replayed in his thoughts. He wanted things could go back to the way they’d been: when all they’d had to worry about was a couple of headaches before everything had been sorted and they hadn’t had to worry about _anything_ afterward. He wanted Cas to be able to remain just as relaxed and cheerful – and as happy as he’d been earlier that night; with his smile lighting up the whole fucking restaurant, his eyes all animated and playful.

Dean knew that there was only a matter of time before the damage could stop being fixed, and even moments like these – the heart wrenching moments where they were both in Goddamn tears over such a harsh experience – needed to be remembered, because in spite of the pain, Cas was still present. He wasn’t a memory yet.

 

 

 

*

 

Castiel held onto Dean as if everything relied upon this one action, his heart pounding in his chest as his thoughts ran circles in his head. He could still feel the burning heat behind his eyes, a lingering sensation that poisoned his mind with the darker reminders of his torment and abuse, unlike any of the pain he’d encountered through the unexplainable instances before. _This_ was something he was familiar with through the actions of Heaven, not simply through the inconvenience that was his headaches, and for the first time in a long while, he began to address his doubts.

He’d always wanted to side with Dean, understanding that there were faults in the theories Gabriel had proposed, and after thinking over the experience with Dean’s mother just a short while ago, such ideals no longer seemed as unbelievable. A pain like this had never been described in the medical files stored in the library, so Castiel was certain it wasn’t something instigated by solely becoming mortal which was both a relief and a curse. It brought back the memories of how _Dean_ could share this torment should the angels – or even _demons_ – see fit. Castiel could remember clearly what the demon had said whilst Dean had been rendered unconscious all those weeks ago; about the others being capable of finding him, and consequently, finding Dean, and it wasn’t implausible either. Any demon could bypass Gabriel’s watch with the aid of an angel, and Azazel had very easily evaded Castiel’s observations in terms of harming Dean’s mother.

Castiel dreaded to think that that was what was occuring: a demon and an angel working together again - in spite of the warnings Michael had issued - to bring them undeserved pain. Neither Dean nor Sam deserved any kind of torment for the attraction Castiel may have bought to them, and there had to be _some way_ he could remove all threats entirely. He didn't want to live in fear for the rest of his life knowing that either Winchester could come to great harm.

_“Castiel,”_ he heard Gabriel hiss behind him, and he began to pull away from Dean shakily, peering at the archangel from over his shoulder.

_“What the **fuck** is that on your back?”_

Dean’s hands settled on his hips, and Castiel covered them with his own timidly, locking eyes with Gabriel as he shifted on Dean’s thighs. The archangel was glaring, and he couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his form, unused being looked at in such a way by him. 

“What’s on my back?” He whispered, glancing to Dean hurriedly before wiping away his tears. “Dean. What’s on my back?”

The man looked distraught, tears still streaming down his face and his soul a shade of blue that Castiel had thought he’d never have to see again. Castiel tore away when he received no response, craning his neck to stare down his spine once he’d stumbled to his feet.

“Dean, you … can someone just tell me what it is?”

He brought his wings around to the front of his body, gripping them firmly so they wouldn’t obstruct his view as he angled his head in every which way to examine the skin as best he could. He didn’t understand why no one had said anything yet – especially when Gabriel had sounded so _aggressive._ He’d never spoken to Castiel like that before, but right now, Castiel was more concerned as to what the problem was as opposed to the way in which he’d been addressed.

“D-Dean …” Castiel whined desperately, coming to a standstill when the fingers encircled his left wrist. He let his arms go slack, recognising the gentle touch Dean always handled him with, and he allowed his wings to relax against his sides when Dean’s other hand settled on his right shoulder blade.

“I don’t see anything on his back,” the man muttered, smoothing a hand through Castiel’s primary feathers soothingly. Castiel himself knew that Dean would not lie about anything of the sort, which was mainly the reason as to why he was so certain someone – or something – was taking his blade. Dean would do anything in his power to help in any normal circumstance, and although neither of them knew how the weapon was disappearing, at least Castiel knew it wasn’t down to his own stupidity.

“Are you _blind?!”_ Gabriel shouted, and Castiel tried to block out the noise while Dean’s hand ran over his bicep. “He’s got a fucking _sigil_ carved into his spine!”

Dean’s hand fell from his arm immediately and Castiel felt his blood run cold, the room spinning as he tried to take in exactly what had just been said.

“What’s a sigil?” Dean questioned slowly, before he was twisting Castiel toward him and cupping his jaw. “Does he mean that tattoo thing you have? Is that what he’s on about?!”

“It’s not a _tattoo!_ That’s a – _fuck!_ You mean to tell me he’s had it all along?!”

“I thought it was normal! You can’t expect me to know everything about you guys when I’ve only known you two damn _months!”_

“Dean …” Castiel breathed, clutching at the man’s forearms as his knees became weak, but Dean moved quickly to support him, pulling him close with his hands beneath Castiel’s arms. He was escorted over to the bed, slumping on the mattress with his head in his palms whilst Dean carefully moved his wings for him, stretching them out so they weren’t at all cramped. Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand when the man walked by, kissing the tips of his fingers gratefully. Dean stopped in front of him, kneeling between his legs so that Castiel could push their foreheads together.

“Please don’t shout at him,” Castiel requested, cradling Dean’s hand beneath his chin. “He’ll be able to help faster if you cooperate.”

Castiel didn’t know what else he could say to make Dean calm down, because he hadn’t anticipated the branding to remain on his flesh after healing himself. Something as basic as a burn to his skin should have been removed relatively easily with the aid of his Grace, so why he still had it was a mystery. He’d managed to heal himself of all the other damage.

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a heavy breath as he leant against the inside of Castiel’s left thigh. “Is the sigil the reason why you’re being hurt?”

“Hopefully,” Castiel replied, watching the tears continue to roll down Dean’s face. It pained him to see Dean as upset as this considering how very remarkable their days prior had been. He always felt safer with Dean, and to have something as sudden and utterly horrific as the manipulation to occur after Dean was only just _beginning_ to understand previous matters only made things more difficult. 

He’d known that sharing his past would have had a fairly negative effect on the man, but Castiel’s pain didn’t help. If anything, it would only worsen Dean’s reception of information because it wasn’t pleasant; the memories, the torment – none of it was something Dean should have ever had to witness.

And then there was the aspect of demons, Castiel was actually quite afraid to bring it up until after he’d discussed it with Gabriel alone because he knew that Dean would only become more stressed knowing that he and Sam would be at risk.

If it came to the worst, Castiel would leave to keep them safe.

He kissed Dean’s forehead as he drew back, meeting Gabriel’s line of sight confidently. “Do you recognise it?”

He blinked before he felt the mattress dip behind him,  the palms settling on the base of his neck to stretch the skin. Castiel knew how it would have to be removed, and even with his ability to cure himself, it would still take a while to heal. He was actually worried as to how long it would take before he would stop being so weak.

“You don’t deserve this, Cassie,” Gabriel muttered, pulsing a bout of heat down Castiel’s spine. “You never did.”

“Don’t say that,” Castiel grunted, encouraging Dean’s head to rest against his thigh, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair gently as the warm tears ran against his skin. “If I wasn’t deserving, I wouldn’t have been punished.”

“What? So you think you deserve to suffer _now?_ Loving a human isn’t a sin, Castiel, and for Raphael to –“

“This is _not_ something I wish to discuss,” Castiel interrupted, keeping his voice low in fear of making Dean even more uncomfortable. His fingers ran through the man’s hair lethargically as he thought over the possibilities, wondering if Raphael hadn’t kept his word after all, or even that he’d employed Alastair to continue the penance. But Gabriel was right in saying that love was not a sin, and Castiel knew that he wasn’t deserving of punishment for a relationship that did no harm to any other. What concerned Castiel most about this treatment was the manner in which it affected Dean, because although Castiel himself had adapted to being tormented and pained, Dean was not used to watching someone else suffer. There was a part of Castiel’s history that he would never share with images or thoughts through the transaction, understanding that words alone would be enough to construct an image; but even then, he had no intention of going into detail. Castiel had considered abandoning the telling altogether, conflicted as to whether it really was the right thing to address if it would only make Dean feel responsible. He’d been able to detect Dean’s guilt earlier – the emotion regarding such fault when there’d been no issue in the first place – and it hurt to know further that Dean had considered himself the reason as to why Castiel had been endangered. Nothing Dean had done had led to Castiel’s imprisonment, because the man was only human; his behaviour was natural and generally easy to control once Castiel had adjusted to his mannerisms, but the torture had had nothing to do with Dean’s actions and personality. It was Castiel’s insolence; his anger and fear aiding the want for Dean to _survive_ that had brought with it suffering. 

“Do you know who branded you?” Gabriel questioned, probing the flesh for a few more seconds before the touch finally disappeared.  Castiel knew that Gabriel had not yet removed the ward on his skin, but he nodded in response to the archangel’s question, looking down to his hand as it stroked through Dean’s hair.

“Alastair.”

“And what did he take?”

“Two bones and a feather.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, but Castiel faced to the side to catch sight of Gabriel again, even if the expression on the archangel’s face was no better.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner? Even the branding – why didn’t you tell me what they did to you?!”

“I’d thought I’d healed myself of it,” he tried, feeling Dean sit up properly, and his hand fell casually from the crown of Dean’s head, coming to rest on his shoulder instead. “And I didn’t want to waste time.”

“You didn’t tell me because you thought falling w – ”

“Don’t you dare criticize my choices!” Castiel exploded, rising from the mattress to face the archangel fully. “This wasn’t just to help Dean; this was to help _me!_ Just because I didn’t consider the fact that someone would continue to hurt me _after_ I fell does not give you the right to insult the life I have chosen to lead!"

He rubbed at his brow as he curled his wings around his middle, conscious of his form considering the little clothing he was dressed in. “Can you please just help me, rather than bring up issues you _promised_ you would never address again? _Please?”_

Gabriel looked more saddened than anything else, his golden wings loose against his back as he remained seated on the bed, but he nodded silently, looking off to the side before his wings were spreading wide for flight.

As soon as he’d disappeared, Castiel turned back toward Dean, grasping his hands again as he crouched beside the man to give the comfort he’d neglected to give before. He was slightly stunned when Dean began murmuring apologies, confused and somewhat worried as to why the man thought it necessary, but he made no attempts to question it, letting Dean convey his upset through slurred sentences as the man cried harder.

“It’s alright, Dean,” he stated softly, moving closer until Dean’s arms were winding around his neck, pinning their chests together and allowing all of Dean’s emotions to be shared between them. The man pressed his face to the side of Castiel’s neck, his flushed skin hot against Castiel’s own, and Castiel allowed his wings to drape over Dean’s back, keeping Dean warm as the man grasped at the finer feathers.

“I thought the mark was normal. I didn’t know they were hurting you with it.”

Castiel smiled weakly, wiping away his own tears. “But at least I can be cured of the pain now,” he responded, lowering his hand to stroke the back of Dean’s head. “You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Dean loosened his hold, rubbing at the skin beneath Castiel’s feathers instead and making him shiver. “Does that mean you’re cured now? Did Gabriel get rid of the mark?”

“Not yet,” Castiel hummed, trailing his fingertips down the back of Dean’s neck. “He needs to destroy the seal that accompanies it first.”

“Oh …”

Castiel could detect Dean’s hope and it made him smile wider, his fingers drawing patterns over Dean’s skin slowly.

“How do you feel now? I mean, when you started bleeding before, I didn’t know what the hell I was meant t– ”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, adjusting his position so Dean could rest against him comfortably. “It didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you were asking. I just didn’t think it’d be particularly nice for you to see.”

It may have been a lie, but Castiel wanted Dean to become less worrisome. Problems as severe as that had anything but good connotations, but they had a solution now, so there was no need to dwell on them.

He bumped Dean on the back of the head gently with one of his wings, grinning at the muffled groan Dean made.

“Are you tired, Dean?”

"I'm tired of seeing you get hurt."

Castiel pushed Dean away carefully, using both hands to cup Dean's jaw. "As soon as Gabriel destroys the seal, no one will be able to hurt me anymore."

Dean smiled timorously, and Castiel leant in to kiss his cheek before getting to his feet. Dean did the same somewhat slower, holding Castiel's gaze as he did so.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened to your wings?"

Castiel's smile slipped, and he dropped his line of sight to Dean's mouth. "I'd rather not," he grimaced. "It's not, uhhh ... I don't really want to think about it if it can be helped."

Dean sat on the edge of the mattress, and Castiel sat beside him, his wing curving around the man's shoulders instinctively.

"Will you at least tell me why they did it?"

"I hurt Raphael," Castiel shrugged. "It wasn't an accident - I knew exactly what I was doing - and he deserved it."

"There are so many angels that deserve the same, Cas," Dean muttered, reaching for Castiel's other wing. Castiel stretched it toward him, welcoming the careful stroke of fingers over the fuller part of the limb, and he relaxed as Dean's other hand rested on the lower part of his spine. "I would _love_ to just go up there and beat the shit out of everyone who thought it'd be funny to treat you like they did."

Dean's fingers raked over the flesh beneath Castiel's feathers, making a shiver travel through Castiel's body. Dean huffed out a laugh - the first one Castiel had heard pass Dean's lips in what felt like days.

"I love you, Cas,“ the man murmured, toying with one of the larger feathers gathered in the centre. Castiel curled closer to Dean, drawing his legs up to rest them over Dean's thighs, and Dean smiled at him, dropping a kiss to his temple. "I just hope Gabriel can sort this out before anything worse happens to you."

Castiel smiled in response, closing his eyes as he found himself cradled in Dean's arms, his head tucked beneath Dean's chin. He was in the same mindset, because until whatever spell had been tied to his brand had been broken, he was still susceptible to injury. Gabriel, because of his higher power, should be able to find the root of the issue relatively quickly, so it would be perhaps a few days before the archangel would get back to them on the subject.

And then they'd have to discuss the warding they could place around the house. It wasn't something Castiel had wanted to do, but they could be discrete about it in order to ensure protection, although Dean would have to be made aware sooner or later concerning the reasons why. 

Saying as such wasn't important right this minute; not whilst Dean had calmed down and his soul was slowly warming up again, the hope providing the man with a different kind of happiness as opposed to the genuine pleasure his soul usually radiated. The sadness was still prominent, and as always, there was that pleasant aura the pink colour always supplied, even if when Castiel had looked to Dean's soul before, there had hardly been any visible. It was reassuring to detect though, less worrisome knowing that Dean's feelings for him hadn't changed after the earlier happenings.

That had been one of Castiel's major doubts: Dean disliking him for his inability to help, and although he should have trusted Dean to act in favour of the opposite to begin with, he was glad that part had been talked over already, even if Dean may still have questions. Castiel didn't mind going back to the topic later if it meant the man would continue to be as understanding. 

"He definitely will be able to fix this, won't he?"

Castiel nodded, resting a hand on Dean's bicep. "Even a human is capable of destroying the seal. Gabriel should have no difficulty whatsoever."

More warmth bloomed in Dean's soul, and Castiel basked in the sensation, humming briefly as it twined with his own. 

"So we're not at risk? Any of us?" Dean persevered, and Castiel stiffened, hoping that perhaps Dean would have left such a question until later.

"There are always going to be risks, Dean, but there are measures I can take to ensure you and Sam will remain safe from harm."

"And you, right? What about you?"

"I'll be fine."

"That's not what I asked, Cas. What are you going to do to keep yourself safe?"

Castiel drew his lower lip between his teeth, unsure of how he could answer.

"You didn't ask about what I would do to protect you," he murmured, opening his eyes slightly and grimacing at the sight of his blade on the pillows just a short distance away, nowhere near to where it had initially been placed. It was like whoever it was manipulating him wasn't even trying to disguise their actions anymore, making it blatantly obvious that the situation wasn't regular.

"Don't avoid the question! I trust you enough to know whatever you'd do for me and my brother would be effective, but how are you gonna protect yourself?"

"It depends on what Gabriel can do. There ... there are multiple options," Castiel offered, shifting uncomfortably as the bitterness returned to Dean's soul. His wings loosened around Dean's body as he tried to climb free, scowling when Dean refused to let him go.

"Well, tell me then. I want to know what these options are before I let you do something stupid," Dean demanded.

"Have my wings removed and my Grace destroyed; returning to Heaven to consult with those in higher power ... there's leaving - leaving is probably the safer option, but I don't know, Dean. Why don't you come up with some ideas of your own and I'll let you know if they're plausible or not," he snapped, pulling the man's hand from his wing to tear away. He snatched his blade from the bed to throw it across the room, having it clatter against the wardrobe harshly before he was stooping down to grab it again, his hands trembling as they tried to hold it steady. 

"You'd ... leave?" Dean asked quietly, and Castiel dropped the blade back to the floor, clenching his fists.

" _I_ am the reason any angel or demon would want to hurt you," he told him, turning his head a little. "Don't you think it makes sense for me to go?"

"This isn't even about _you,_ is it?" The man blurted, and Castiel cringed, drawing his wings in tighter to his back so that they sloped over his shoulders and gave him the comfort he wanted. 

He shrugged, walking to the foot of the bed to lift the comforter as best he could from the floor, dumping it on the mattress. He knew exactly what Dean was going to say - they'd had this conversation countless times - but he didn't care. Dean was his priority and always would be, regardless of whether Dean's needs clashed with his own wants or not, so to fuel an argument they'd already had several times over was pointless. 

Castiel was tired of it all.

"Why would you ... you're fucking _family,_ Cas! I don't care if you're a damn risk - you're staying with us!"

"And what if I want to go?" Castiel addressed harshly, facing the man as the heavy blanket fell from his hands. "Or does that not count?"

Dean was tearing up again, his soul turning almost grey in colour as Castiel went about making his side of the bed suitable to lounge on. 

"Why the fuck are you being like this?! All I want is for you to look out for yourself!" Dean shouted, pushing away from the mattress to come around beside him. "There have to be other things you can do instead - you just said there were other options, s-so what if Gabriel can come up with something? Would you stay then?"

Castiel didn't know how to react, his wings jittering wildly as he tried to control his emotions. It was like he'd only just been reintroduced to anger and sadness and all the other negative sentiments that made his chest tight and his head heavy. He wanted to hide; he wanted to cower beneath the bedsheets as he waited for some kind of promise - some kind of reassurance - that ruled out the idea of ever having to leave, because that was his personal idea of a last resort. He'd sooner have his wings sawn from his back than give up Dean like that, but he didn't know how effective destroying his Grace would be. He didn't want demons tracking him down because of his detectable differences, and he most certainly didn't want any of them harming either Winchester. Staying would be selfish, but the thought of having so much distance between himself and Dean had him praying for another option to make itself known, not wanting to be without the man for a single moment, let alone a day.

He threw himself at Dean, crashing their mouths together desperately and he brought his hands up to support Dean's head, raking his fingers through Dean's short hair as he tried to ground himself, seeking as much distraction from the present as opposed to the thoughts of the future. Dean didn't even try to pull away like Castiel had thought he would, but that only reminded him of Dean's encounters in the past; the man letting whatever partner he'd seen available use him to distract him from his upset. It had always hurt to see Dean after such events, this emptiness shared through the link once any amount of pleasure created through his sexual acts - if any - had drained away, and Dean had been left feeling more and more alone.

Castiel wasn't going to let him endure that again; he wasn't going to take advantage of Dean's frailty and desperation to make himself feel better, because what memory would that leave them? Should Castiel have to abandon Dean, why would he want the man to remember him through an act of imaginary desire that had led to nothing but more emotional pain?

In spite of this, he couldn't help but gasp when Dean cupped him through his boxers, scratching his nails lightly down the back of Dean's neck as he was pushed onto the bed, and he rocked against Dean's palm, his legs spreading so Dean could lower himself between them.

"I don't want to leave," he admitted when the man moved down to kiss at his neck, his ankles hooking together over Dean's back as Dean ground down. He could feel tears on his skin - both his own and Dean's from their earlier positioning - and he encouraged Dean's mouth to slot with his once more, unable to describe the oddity of a sensation that had made itself known in the few seconds they'd stopped kissing. Dean more than readily obliged, and Castiel found himself pinned beneath Dean's hips, pulling the man's chest closer to map out Dean's back with his hands; shifting muscle, the curve of his spine, and the smooth skin that was positively hot to the touch.

Castiel didn't know what he would do without Dean with him, his heart racing faster as Dean's hands skated over his sides, reminding him that Dean was the only one who could do that. _Dean_ was the only person who could bring excitement to his life; the only person who made Castiel's life worth living. He didn't want them to separate - he didn't want to be apart from his bond mate! They'd barely even begun to appreciate the pairing, with the subtlety of their longing constantly seeping through the link as if to bring a permanent memory of its presence. He dreaded to think what such a bond would be like without contact, quickly pushing the thought from his mind when Dean began to whisper promises against his lips; promises to do anything possible for them all to stay as a family - safe, without anyone having to leave - followed by several kisses to emphasize his words before Dean was speaking again, his voice low in spite of them being the only two in the house.

"We're gonna figure something out, Cas. I don't care how long it takes, or how effective it'll be, but if it means you can stay here without anymore issues, I'll be happy," Dean spoke gently, stroking a hand over Castiel's left wing tenderly. "I'm not letting you sacrifice anything more for me."

 


	18. Wasting Time

 

 

Do you wanna tie me up?  
Do you wanna tie me down?  
Go ahead and do it now.  
So far, so good,let it roll, let it ride, ride.  
So far, so good, let us fall, let us fight, fight.  
It’s no fun on the sidelines.

_The Academy Is …_

 

Castiel tucked Dean beneath his wing, wiping the last of the tears from his face with his fingers before making himself as comfortable as possible against the pillows. Dean looked dazed, his soul still dark and blue, but he’d definitely relaxed, his expression no longer pained and distressed. Castiel pulled the comforter over them both, smiling faintly when Dean looked up at him, and he pushed a hand through Dean’s hair gently as he edged forward to kiss him.

They’d talked for a while, Castiel encouraging the man to calm down and avoid doing anything he’d regret, and it had definitely helped them both relax. He’d explained fully the reasons as to why he’d even consider leaving, assuring the man that if it ever did come to that, he wouldn’t keep away permanently – not when something could be done. They were still waiting for Gabriel to return, and when he did, they’d speak to him together.

Castiel would let Dean ask questions, so long as they weren’t aggressively phrased, in order for the man to know exactly what measures they could take without Castiel’s uncertain suggestions. Leaving was still the more sensible option, but even then, the demons might actually know and associate Dean with him now. If that was the case, then any of them could still harm the man regardless of whether Castiel was there to protect him or not. The thought of it terrified him because Dean didn’t deserve pain or torment – and neither did Sam, who was as equally vulnerable. Both Winchester’s would have to be marked in order for them to be virtually untraceable, but obviously there were several issues regarding that ideal. Dean had suggested it briefly: telling Sam the truth about everything, but Castiel didn’t want to frighten the boy with the knowledge that there were creatures out there that wanted to harm him. It was bad enough having Dean know, but they could protect Sam without telling him anything – they could continue to keep him safe without giving him anxiety and paranoia.

Castiel drew back, watching the smile ghost over Dean’s lips, and he settled his hand over the man’s chest, closing his eyes without the intent of falling asleep. The lights were still on in the bedroom in spite of the early hour, but until Dean stated that he was ready for bed, Castiel thought it best to leave them that way.

He focused on Dean’s pulse – the beat that had slowed to its natural pace – and it soothed him to know that Dean had understood the situation. Obviously the man wasn’t happy about it, but he had listened without complaint, asking very little questions about the few solutions Castiel was aware of. Again, Castiel wasn’t sure of everything, and Gabriel had more answers than he did. The archangel had been around for far longer, so there had to have been cases like this before where an angel had fallen and required protection in their mortal state. Those kind of files had been kept hidden from him, private information only used in the most serious of situations, what with their ability to destroy an angel’s entirety upon being worked on their form. Dean had asked before about whether it’d hurt to be essentially branded with the warding required to keep them undetected, and Castiel wasn’t entirely sure. He could always numb the pain whilst it was applied, but he didn’t like the idea of purposely inflicting pain in the first place – especially when he would be hurting  _Dean_  – and he also didn’t know how to apply it himself, which meant he’d have to watch Gabriel brand Dean unless he was taught. Having Gabriel do it in his place was far more sensible, even if Castiel couldn’t help but feel discomforted at the thought of the archangel harming his partner, whether it was part of the entire process or not. 

And then there was Sam.

Castiel couldn’t ignore the need to keep the boy protected. He didn’t know how they’d go about it without revealing  _something,_ especially if the warding induced pain. Castiel didn’t particularly like the idea of putting Sam under for a short amount of time, but if it meant they’d all be safe, it was probably the more sensible option.

He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t explain things as well as he would have liked when he barely understood it himself, so until Gabriel returned – hopefully having destroyed the seal causing Castiel harm – there wasn’t much they could do at all.

Castiel didn’t even know what sigils he could apply to the home in order to strengthen the security. He’d never had to protect anything in such a way before, but it would most likely be more reliable combined with Gabriel’s powers.

Until they came up with something else – something more worthwhile and less of a bother because Castiel highly doubted Gabriel enjoyed spending so much time assuring a watch over their house - the warding would have to suffice. The archangel was busy, and yes, his Grace alerted him to changes to the household, but Castiel knew what it was like to supply a consistent feed of energy, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was beginning to wear Gabriel out.

They couldn’t rely on his protection forever. The war in the Heavens may almost be over, but at this rate, it wouldn’t be long until the demons found another doorway to the Garden.

Gabriel wouldn’t be able to keep them safe when Heaven was of greater importance.

 

*

 

“What does our bond mean?”

Castiel glanced at Dean sparingly as they crossed the street, their linked hands keeping their bodies close enough to share a small amount of heat amidst the cold air. He’d grown accustomed to the frozen weather, no longer finding it as difficult to maintain his balance as they made their way to and from their chosen destinations, but he wasn’t used to the barren streets; the quiet accompanying the daylight when there was usually at least a few people about when he and Dean went on walks such as this.

Today, there was no one.

“Which bond are you referring to?” He asked quietly, pushing his hair away from his forehead with his free hand.

“The one that lets me see your Grace,” Dean replied, tugging Castiel forward when they reached the opening to the stadium. It’d become a habit of theirs to visit there a few times a week, whether that was after work and it was lit by distant streetlamps, or on Sundays when Sam could be with them too. It was a short walk, but it was nice to sit in such an open area – especially when it was as clear and refreshing as it was that day.

Obviously, Sam hadn’t yet arrived back. He wouldn’t be home until gone lunchtime, and although Dean and himself had fallen asleep at half four at the earliest, they’d both woken at around eight; exhausted but unable to rest for any longer.

They hadn’t talked of his history again. They hadn’t talked about anything relating to the earlier hours of the morning.

“The Gracial bond is a promise, Dean. It means that I have promised to care for, protect, and in this case, love you until the end of existence,” he said softly, glancing down to his feet briefly as he stepped carefully onto the fresh snow. He'd actually been meaning to address it for a while now, wanting to clear a few things up in terms of their future and what could potentially happen. Their bond played a very important role, even if it still seemed like such a discrete aspect, no longer really acknowledged by either of them.

“I know I’ve never asked as much before, but I wanted to know if when you pass on, you’d consider letting me stay with you; in your Heaven?”

The man stopped, turning toward him with confusion reading all over his expression.

Castiel swallowed, looking down to the ground once more. It was probably a bad time to address it, but he’d prefer to be made sure of such a thing just incase he couldn’t stay with Dean and never had the opportunity again. “I-if you still like me by that point, that is,” he added quickly, drawing his hand back to toy with the thin fabric of his borrowed gloves. “Human relationships aren’t … permanent, so I understand if you change your mind at any point – or don’t decide to at all. I don’t mind. There’s more than …”

He trailed off when Dean’s lips pressed to his forehead, arms circling his waist, and Castiel hugged back tightly, hiding his face in the man’s neck.

“You don’t think I can love you ‘til ‘the end of existence’ too?” Dean murmured, pressing his cheek to the side of Castiel’s head. “I want you there. It’s fucking morbid to think about, but even if the bond wasn’t in place I’d still want you with me.”

Castiel smiled weakly, closing his eyes as Dean took a step closer to the wall, finding himself backed up against the cobbled stone. It dug into his shoulders a little through the fabric of his coat, but he ignored it, focusing more intently on the hot touch of Dean’s breath against the shell of his ear.

“Do you … ever worry about that though?” Castiel asked, feeling Dean’s hands rub up and down his back. “Not being in love anymore?”

Dean sighed, dropping his chin to Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t think about it, Cas. I … can we not talk about that?”

Castiel felt the heat crawl over his skin, ashamed of himself for even addressing it. “I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t –”

“No, it’s not your fault. I mean, it scares me, but every relationship’s like that. It’s just a risk, y’know?” Dean mumbled, clutching at his coat. “B-but this is … it feels different. I … I know I’ve been shallow and selfish in the past, but it’s …”

The man sighed again, pulling back to cup Castiel’s face. “It’s not about your looks or the sex – I-I mean you’re beautiful, and the sex is great, but with you I feel like those things aren’t even necessary! I could just – hell, we could just sit next to each other for the rest of our lives and I’d still fucking love you. I’ve told you why I’m in love with you – I’ve told you why I want to spend-”

The man cut himself off, turning away abruptly to take a few steps in the opposite direction. Castiel rested against the wall, waiting patiently for Dean to finish his sentence. It was a few more seconds before Dean came back toward him, grabbing the lapels of his coat to tug him closer and kiss him hard on the mouth. Castiel stilled for a moment before gently winding his arms around Dean’s shoulders again, parting his lips when the man’s tongue teased his mouth open.

He was more than a little surprised when Dean began to push the trenchcoat from his shoulders, given the cold weather and the need for more clothing in these low temperatures, and he pulled back in confusion, ducking his head shyly as he adjusted his coat into a more comfortable position on his form. “Dean …”

The man gave him a sheepish smile, and Castiel could tell it wasn’t just the icy wind giving colour to his flesh. He pushed up on the balls of his feet to kiss Dean on his lips once more, albeit somewhat timidly, unsure of why the man had been as forward as that when he had only just said that sex wasn’t important in terms of their relationship. Obviously he wasn’t certain that that was what Dean had been aiming for, but Castiel didn’t know any other reason as to why Dean would want him to remove his clothing.

“Come with me,” Dean said quickly, starting off in the direction of the bleachers. Castiel stalled in confusion, watching as Dean left a trail of footprints in the snow before he began to follow, walking briskly so not to be left behind.

When Dean disappeared behind the bleachers, only his outline visible through the gaps in the benches, Castiel stood beside the slight opening. He knew that people weren’t meant to go beneath the seats and he didn’t have the faintest idea as to why Dean wanted him go under there with him. He did nonetheless, but it didn’t make him feel anymore relaxed, even if he knew he should have nothing to worry about in Dean’s presence.

“What are we doing?” He queried, letting himself smile a little when Dean sat down on the dead, frosted grass, cocking his head to the side when Dean patted the ground beside him with a gloved hand. He wandered over, dropping down to a cross-legged position as close as he could manage, leaning against the man’s side when an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Remember when I first found you here, and you were all weak and stuff?” Dean asked, and Castiel grimaced, embarrassed by the memory.

“I wasn’t weak,” he tried, elbowing the man in the ribs playfully. “I was exhausted.”

“Yeah, well, that …” Dean started, squeezing Castiel’s bicep. “That was the first time I promised myself I’d take care of you.”

Castiel turned his head to look at him, smiling wider at the excited glint in Dean’s eye. He could see the faint glimmer of pink shining from the man’s soul, clear as day in contrast with the blue, and it had a familiar warmth spreading through his chest, combating the cold chill of the air.

“A day later, when you told me the basics of your history; that was the first time I promised myself I’d protect you," Dean continued, glancing briefly to the white plains of the sports field, and Castiel could feel the bizarre fluttering sensation in his stomach as Dean pressed closer, his hand trembling when Dean took it in one of his own.

“A-and this is me promising to love you ‘til the end of existence,” the man whispered, twining their fingers together. Castiel grinned at the difficulty, withdrawing his hand so he could take his gloves off and pull at Dean’s own so that their hands could fit together properly.

There was a brief flare of yellow over Dean’s soul, lighting up the shadows beneath the bleachers, and Castiel pulled away again to open up Dean’s jacket, desperate to examine Dean’s soul as clearly as possible without the clothing blurring its exterior too much.

Dean laughed, leaning back on his elbows when Castiel encouraged him to lie down, and he cupped the back of Castiel’s head when Castiel leant in to kiss him, smiling against his mouth for the short while it lasted.

“I will do _whatever_ it takes to make sure you’re safe here with me, even if that means being branded with all sorts of weird angely scribbles,” Dean told him, clearing his throat and blushing darker. “Because I don’t want to live without you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together.”

Castiel slipped his hands beneath Dean’s shirt to keep them warm, kissing him soundly on the lips. What Dean was saying – what he was essentially claiming – was so very similar to the speeches angels gave before requesting the Gracial bond.

They’d formed the connection without ever talking about it. Neither he nor Dean had had the chance to even consider saying something like this to one another, and given the implications of the bond from a human perspective, it was essentially a marriage proposal. He wondered if the man even remembered being told as such, but it made his head swim simply hearing Dean actually say the words he’d thought he’d never get to hear. He’d thought he’d ruined his chances of hearing something so similar given his accidental creation of the bond.

He knew full well that Dean hadn’t actually proposed, but it was close to what Castiel would have chosen to say before initiating the bond should he have had the chance, and right now, it was the only thing he cared about. An announcement like that had always been considered an unrealistic dream of his. Ever since his wings were deemed disgusting, not once had he imagined being told that someone would go lengths just to be with him; that someone would want to partner with him until the very end.

“Say it again,” he prompted, straddling Dean’s hips as his hands grazed over Dean’s abdomen, the tips of his fingers touching at the borders of the man’s soul, grinning wider at the gentle warmth of Dean's sentiments, letting them run through his veins and fill his own chest with the same relaxing sensation.

Dean hummed, slowly pushing up into a sitting position so their angle was a little better, and Castiel drew back lethargically, letting their noses bump as he stared into Dean’s eyes.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Dean stated calmly, wetting his lips. “O-on earth and in Heaven; until the end of existence.”

Castiel drew a hand out from beneath the man’s shirt, reaching up to run his thumb over Dean’s lower lip, feeling Dean smile beneath his touch. He kissed Dean again – harder this time – feeling Dean push back with just as much force as Castiel’s tongue slipped into his mouth. He used his free hand to cradle the back of Dean’s head, moaning lightly when Dean’s hands squeezed his thighs, and he ground down teasingly, thrilled by the slight vibration of Dean’s amusement as the laughter rumbled through his chest.

It went on for a while, Castiel perpetually rocking against Dean’s crotch while he kissed the man senseless, his lips becoming sensitive and sore with desperation and need. He could tell Dean was trying to be gentle, his lips supple and soft in spite of Castiel’s forward actions, so he tried to pace himself, slowing his hips as their tongues tangled until he heard the sharp intake of breath on Dean’s part, followed by a curse when the man broke their mouths apart. Castiel couldn’t help but burst into laughter, nuzzling beneath Dean’s jaw as he stilled his hips altogether, reaching down to run a finger over the fly of the man’s jeans.

“Sorry,” he giggled, yelping when he was pushed back against the hard ground playfully with his arms pinned above his head, squirming a little when Dean’s free hand rested on his stomach, pushing the shirt up a little and exposing Castiel’s skin to the cold air.

“You don’t sound very sorry, Cas,” Dean smirked, moving his hand down to pop open the button on Castiel’s own jeans. Castiel wriggled again, his coat bunching up beneath him as Dean knocked his thighs open with a knee, settling a leg in between. “Making me cum in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

Castiel laughed again, pleased to hear such  _normality_  in Dean’s tone. This was normal. It  _felt_  normal – like nothing was threatening their relationship at all. Even though they’d only been without the calm for no longer than half a day, Castiel had missed it. He’d missed the pink and the yellow, and the natural smile on Dean’s face, and just the way Dean made him feel safe.

It was like nothing bad had happened at all, and Castiel  _loved it!_

He bit his lower lip when Dean began to rub a thigh against his crotch, tipping his head back and closing his eyes when Dean’s mouth settled on his throat, his breath hot against the damp skin as his teeth dragged over flesh, and Castiel whimpered, trying to break one of his arms free so he could guide Dean’s mouth over the rest of his neck. He could feel the cold fingers of Dean’s free hand trail along his stomach again, but Castiel welcomed it, suddenly feeling hot all over.

The effects Dean had on his form would never cease to amaze him.

The man continued to kiss and bite at his neck, a smile to his lips that had even more heat pooling in Castiel’s belly than the friction to his groin supplied, and he let out a heavy breath when it came crashing down in the familiar wave of pleasure, trembling as it reverberated through his body.

“Oh dear,” Dean hummed, kissing the hinge of his jaw. “I’m awfully sorry, Castiel.”

It took a few moments before he realised exactly what had happened, and he grimaced at the sticky discomfort that now plagued him, understanding fully why Dean had pulled a face before.

“This is disgusting,” he announced, sitting up abruptly when Dean let go of his wrists to do up the button on his jeans and adjust himself so it wasn’t as uncomfortable.

Dean laughed again, chucking Castiel under the chin as he grabbed his gloves from the ground and rose to his feet. “Serves you right.”

The walk back was quite possibly one of the worst human experiences Castiel had faced. He’d never felt dirtier and walking had never been so awkward. Dean continued to laugh at him in spite of their matching situation, and Castiel didn’t understand how the man managed to cope so well, making his way down the street as if he wasn’t experiencing the same obscurity.

As soon as he was in the house he went straight for the bathroom, cringing as he went up the stairs to reach it.

“Don’t you dare go in there without me!” Dean called from the ground floor, and Castiel grinned, leaning patiently against the doorframe as he waited for Dean to switch the hot water on. It wasn’t long before the man came bounding onto the landing, a smile on his face and his cheeks lightly flushed, and Castiel reached for him, framing his face with his hands so he could push his fingers through Dean’s hair and bring their mouths closer together.

“You’re glowing again,” Dean chuckled, smiling wider, and Castiel kissed him chastely, pulling him into the bathroom and knocking the door shut with his foot.

He wondered what it looked like to the man with all his emotion present. His Grace was meant to be blue – not as a representation of sadness; as his essence – but he didn’t know if the lining dropped to a darker shade when he became upset. It didn’t particularly matter, but it’d be interesting to know. He hadn’t seen what his Grace looked like on this mortal form yet.

He drew back to start toward the shower, jolting when Dean took hold of his wrist, preventing him from walking away. He looked back in confusion, surprised when Dean tugged him over to the bath.

“I was gonna ask last night, but I figured since we have like, three hours before Sam’s back, we could share a bath. I-I mean, I know its lame, but it’s more, uhhh …”

“Intimate?” Castiel asked, looking down at the white tub.

“I was hoping for ‘romantic’, but yeah; let’s go with that.”

Castiel gently prised Dean’s fingers from around his wrist so he could begin sliding off his coat, smiling coyly up at the man. “Run the bath then, Dean Winchester,” he said softly, letting his clothing fall to the floor.

Dean turned toward the bath hurriedly, reaching forward to adjust the knobs of the tap. The sound of running water filled the room, and Castiel didn’t even bother trying to keep the smile from his face while he stripped himself of his upper body clothing, appreciating the slow way in which Dean chose to help him. Dean manoeuvred him in a way that resulted in his back pressed against the man’s chest, his shirt ridden up over his abdomen as Dean pulled at the hem lazily. It took far longer than any undressing should have, and by the time Castiel’s chest was exposed, the room was filled with steam.

Dean pushed him away lightly so he could go about actually filling the bath with water, as opposed to simply letting it drain down the plug, and Castiel leant against the side of the tub as he watched the man add what was essentially the equivalent of washing up liquid to the bath water, bubbles gliding smoothly over the surface as the water began to rise higher.

He kicked off his shoes when Dean advanced on him again, pulling at Dean’s jacket until the man eventually straightened his arms to let it fall to the floor.

“Stop being stubborn,” Castiel chided, unzipping the hoodie Dean had been wearing underneath. Dean chuckled before he began to cooperate at an acceptable speed; no more overly lengthened adjustments of clothing and teasing gestures, and soon they were both shirtless, somewhat cold in the draughty room. Dean had gone to turn the tap off, the bath having been filled to over half way, and Castiel began to undo his pants, more than a little uncomfortable knowing the state he was in. It did make him feel better to know that Dean was just the same, but he still thought it unpleasant.

“Okay …” Dean hummed, crooking a finger in his direction. “Come over here for a minute.”

Castiel walked toward him timidly, returning the smile when one was aimed in his direction. They stopped by the sink, with Dean crouching down to dig out some kind of flannel from the lower cupboard. He grinned when Dean’s finger hooked into one of the belt loops on his jeans, finding himself pulled closer to the man, and he stroked a hand through Dean’s hair while he remained on the ground, receiving a kiss to his right hipbone.

“Take these off,” the man prompted, tugging down the waistband slightly. “I’ll wipe us down before we get in the bath.”

Castiel complied, even if he felt utterly gross. He was simply relieved that Dean wasn’t mocking him for it anymore, running the cloth beneath the tap in the sink before going on to clean away the mess. It wasn’t as embarrassing as it had initially seemed, and it wasn’t as if Dean hadn’t touched him like this before so he saw nothing wrong with it, stepping out of his jeans and underwear as Dean wiped him free of the discomfort.

He pulled off his socks when Dean went on to clean himself, putting both his and Dean’s soiled clothes in a pile by the doorway, ensuring that he’d taken Dean’s phone out of his jeans before dumping those in the pile as well.

The flannel was added to the wash pile soon after, and Castiel was left facing Dean in the middle of the room, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when the man took his hand.

"Come along then, Castiel," Dean murmured, swinging their linked hands as he took a step toward the bath and Castiel followed, biting his lower lip when Dean raised a leg to step into the tub. Castiel kept him balanced, leaning over the side smiling when Dean was finally seated in the water, and he waited until the man was grinning up at him before he stepped in as well.

Dean's free hand touched at the back of his thigh as Castiel lowered himself, unsure of the position in which he should take, and he knelt down, not missing the way Dean smirked at his confusion. He simply wasn't used to being in water, and although it was warm and not entirely foreign, he still didn't know what he was expected to do.

Dean let go of his hand, shuffling back as if to create more room, so Castiel moved into the new space, placing a palm on Dean's chest, his other hand dipping beneath the water to settle on the man's knee. 

"You shouldn't bite your lip, Cas," Dean whispered, reaching up to cradle his jaw, and Castiel leant into it, sighing as their noses brushed. Dean's breath was warm against his skin, and he slid his hand down to cover Dean's soul, letting Dean pull him closer and exhale into his mouth. 

"I'm sorry," he replied, kissing Dean softly, slowly; feeling the man relax beneath him.

He drew back after a while, laughing when Dean ducked down in the bath so only his eyes were visible above the surface of the water and he scooped up some of the bubbles in the palms of his hands, dropping it over Dean's head and quickly moving back when Dean splashed at him. He splashed back, yelping when Dean grabbed his ankle, chest submerged as a consequence.

"Dean!" He giggled when the man's fingers grazed over his ribs and Dean was crawling on top of him, water sloshing against the sides of the bath. He wound his arms around Dean's neck, his laughter uncontrollable as the man slapped bubbles against his cheek, dumped in his hair so that they ran down his back and he could feel the heat flow through him from Dean's soul, directly transferred to his chest from their skin-on-skin contact. 

It was warm - so very warm - and he clung to every slight alteration in the man's emotion, registering the unadulterated joy that swallowed any trace of sadness that had been there prior, and he curled against Dean's body, revelling in the smooth slide of muscle under his hands.

"This was meant to be romantic," Dean groaned, his forehead falling to Castiel's shoulder. "Why'd you have to ruin it with your constant adorableness?"

Castiel didn't know how to explain it, but this to him  _was_  romantic. Dean was putting in effort and going out of his comfort zone for the second day in a row to try and please him, and it was so endearing and sweet that Castiel would always consider gestures like this amorous. 

"If you say so," he snorted, hugging the man tightly as Dean reached for the bar of soap resting on the side, dragging a finger down Dean's spine. "I beg to differ."

He could feel the burst of happiness radiate from the man's soul, the light reflecting in the transparent bubbles around them.

"You've got a really weird interpretation of 'romantic', dude," Dean mumbled, leaning back so Castiel was pulled against his chest, bubbles splashing up to his chin. "But I'm glad you see it that way."

Castiel took the soap from Dean's hand, sitting back momentarily as he rubbed it between his palms. He set it down on the side before smoothing his hands over Dean's shoulders and the top of his torso, running them beneath the water, even if the soap was rinsed away on the way down, but Dean didn't seem to mind, watching him with this odd kind of curiosity that had Castiel's heart beating faster. 

Being in the bath was different. It was more confining but the feeling of water around him was actually more comforting than the heavy beat of water provided by the shower, and the closeness aspect was another bonus. It was like laying in bed, only they weren't relying on body heat and blankets - the water was much different in terms of heat and it wasn't a nuisance by tangling around his form when he went to move. 

He ran his hands up to Dean's shoulders again, watching the water wash away the remaining soap suds. He liked the gentle sound the droplets made when they hit the surface again, and it was just so peaceful; Dean keeping quiet as Castiel went about cleaning the rest of him. And he could tell Dean liked it because his soul wasn't saying otherwise, the yellow spiralling through the orb with a collaboration of pink, not a touch of blue in sight.

Castiel grinned, dumping bubbles on the man's head and crying out excitedly when Dean returned the favour, pulled immediately to Dean's chest as the suds ran down his face. Dean kissed his forehead tenderly, not seeming to mind the abundance of bubbles, holding him close as took the soap in hand again.

"We should do this more often," the man suggested, lathering up his palms before dropping the bar to the floor of the bath, touching at Castiel's chest nimbly. 

Castiel closed his eyes, smiling as Dean's hands dragged over his skin. "I'd like that."

 

*

 

Dean fell asleep almost as soon as they lay on the couch, the man pulling him close, mumbling something about lunch before his breathing slowed and his grip loosened. Castiel didn't try to move or abandon Dean, content lying in the warmth of Dean's arms as he waited for Sam to return. He knew it would be some time before the boy actually got back, but they'd already tidied up and turned on the washing machine, so other than the glass Dean had used for a drink five minutes earlier, everything else had been cleaned and put away.

Dean had even gone as far as to search for any feathers Castiel had accidentally molted earlier, collecting together the minute few and leaving them on the bedside cabinet as opposed to throwing them in the trash. Castiel personally thought it rather endearing for the man to want to keep them, especially when they were of the crooked kind. If he'd known Dean planned on keeping them, he would have groomed his wings first to ensure that they appeared as neat as possible, but Dean didn't seem to care about their condition, one still clutched in his hand, resting over Castiel's chest.

It was what Castiel was occupying himself with now: teasing the dark feather from between Dean's fingers so he could smooth it down and smarten its appearance. Once it looked as regular as possible, he placed it back in the palm of Dean's hand, encouraging the man's fingers to curl around it carefully.

He couldn't help but wonder if Dean's want to keep them had something to do with what Gabriel had questioned last night. It was either that or the topic of Castiel removing his wings, because he quite clearly recalled Dean's irritation when Castiel had suggested such a thing for a second time, remembering how Dean had told him removing his wings was essentially the equivalent of someone removing their legs. Castiel hadn't ever thought of it like that, because here on earth, his wings were useless. He didn't even know why he still had them, although he had a suspicion Gabriel had been doubtful of Castiel's determination to live on earth until the end of his mortal life. 

But part of him didn't want his wings removed anyway, and not just because of the pain it would cause him. He would miss them greatly, despite them being a reminder of his angelic heritage, because they also reminded him that without such a thing, he and Dean would have never known each other. Not only that, but Dean liked them. Dean didn't want him to get rid of them for both that reason and the fact that they were a part of Castiel.

But again: it may end up being the only option they have. Dean wouldn't argue about it if it was their only solution.

Castiel looked across the room at the sound of the front door opening, the timid 'hello' Sam called down the hall as he closed the door again, and Castiel shifted away from Dean carefully, moving the man's arm so it was tucked against his chest before getting to his feet and walking over to the living room doorway. Sam was pulling his shoes off in the corridor, and Castiel waited a few moments more before saying his 'hello' in return. The boy spun around, hopping a little on one foot as he undid the laces on his other, smiling up at him in response.

"You're back a little earlier than expected," Castiel said softly, leaning against the door frame while he waited for Sam to finish up.

"Did I interrupt something?" Sam grinned, meeting his eye, and Castiel snorted, pushing away from the frame to start toward the kitchen.

"Dean fell back asleep half an hour ago," Castiel informed him, glancing back over his shoulder to see Sam following behind. "I don't think he slept very well last night."

"Did you get enough sleep though? I mean, I'm sorry if he made you stay up all night. He likes to flaunt the whole insomnia thing he's got going on."

Castiel doubted Dean's lack of sleep was down to that factor alone. The man's sleeping pattern had improved and Dean was no longer risking his health by going to bed in the early hours of the morning; and when he did have to work late, at least he was making up for the time by staying in bed for longer periods of time.

When Castiel had first woken that morning, Dean was awake, his soul dark and mottled with colour in spite of their last conversation, and Castiel hadn't actually considered the fact that Dean may not have slept at all. He hadn't even thought to ask.

"No, no. I was fine. I might have made him get up a little too early."

Sam laughed at this, but all Castiel felt was guilt. He should have checked to see if Dean genuinely was okay, rather than going by his expression and soul alone. He shouldn't have let himself fall asleep until he'd made sure Dean was able; he'd been selfish and ignorant, thinking that Dean was fine.

"Have you had lunch yet?" He asked, wanting to divert his thoughts. He needed to seem positive before Sam from here on out, and he could apologise to Dean when the man woke later. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"I'm fine for now, Cas. I've pretty much just had breakfast."

"Okay," he nodded, taking the glass Dean had used earlier to fill with water. "What about you, then; did you sleep alright?"

"Not really, but I don't feel that tired. I'm used to it after putting up with Dean every New Year's Eve," Sam shrugged, pulling out a chair at the table, and Castiel did the same, setting down his glass as he sat down. There was a pause while Castiel got comfortable, and he stared down at his hands, unsure of how he could progress their conversation without letting his mask slip.

"I wanted to say thank you, though."

Castiel looked up at the boy, folding his arms over the table top. "For what?" he asked, smiling as he awaited for the response.

"For making him so happy," Sam said simply, smiling in response. "I-I mean, I know I've told you that before, but I wanted to say it again anyway ‘cos I think it’s great that he’s found someone like you.”

Castiel could feel the heat bloom on his cheeks, and he ducked his head a little as he tried to bite back his grin. “Thank you, Sam. I just ... it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?”

“Not really. I mean, it’s not exactly any different to how you guys were acting before,” the boy teased, and Castiel smirked, sitting up a little straighter so he could take a drink.

It was true though; they’d been acting like a couple before they’d even become involved, even though Castiel embarrassingly hadn’t acknowledged it until Gabriel had brought up the topic of Dean’s affections. He didn’t really mind though because it meant the relationship hadn’t been confusing in terms of change and it’d felt _natural_. He hadn’t been frightened of what he was to expect from the intimacy and things hadn’t been awkward between them. The transition, if anything, had strengthened their relationship.

“So how was your _date_?” Sam pressed, leaning forward in his chair. “Or did he lie to me about it, because I honestly can’t remember the last time he actually took someone out – especially for something like _dinner_.”

Castiel laughed, tapping his finger against the rim of his glass. “I was fairly surprised as well to be honest, but it was nice. I had a really good time.”

"Well, I'm glad he's putting more effort in," Sam hummed. "It kinda speaks volumes, y'know?"

Castiel would have agreed with Sam even if he was unable to see the colours in Dean's soul, knowing full well that Dean was putting a  _lot_ of effort into this relationship. Although Castiel had encouraged Dean to talk about how he felt about other matters earlier on in their friendship, it still amazed him every time the man said 'I love you', recalling Dean's past dislike for addressing any kind of emotion as personal as that and how difficult it had made other relationships, but Dean was open with him. He was honest and sweet; he was more confident in terms of his actions, and most importantly: he was happy - all the things he was when he was younger.

Castiel was simply overjoyed that the bond had the ability to return these attributes to Dean after so long of him being without them.

 


	19. After Dark, I Need You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly okay with this chapter. I had a bit of Cas' POV that I was gonna add to the bottom, but I didn't really want to fuck up the moment, so I guess the next chapter will just open with it instead *sigh* 
> 
> I'm sorry I'm so useless. This should have been up almost two weeks ago.

Of age there is no question  
Death's shadow is undone  
We only need each other  
In shelter from the sun

Long ago and far away I heard your voice  
But once I heard you sing your song I had no choice  
Terror took control it told me what to say  
And let me loose, I fear I've finally found a way

 

_Blue Öyster Cult_

 

 

It was gone six o’clock when Dean woke up on the floor of the living room, his arm aching from his fall to the wood floor and a crick in his neck from whatever stupid position he’d ended up falling asleep in. He let out a heavy sigh as he pushed up on his hands, somewhat dazed and incredibly tired.

“Dean? Is everything okay?”

Dean groaned, flipping onto his back as he glanced around the room. Even through blurred vision he could still see that no one was around to have witnessed something that could have potentially been embarrassing, so he climbed to his feet, steadying himself by leaning against the arm of the couch for a few moments. He frowned at the sight of the crumpled feather he’d abandoned on the couch, plucking it from the cushion between his thumb and index finger whilst he straightened it out with his other hand. From what he could tell through the darkness, it wasn’t badly damaged, just a little crooked, and he slipped it into his pocket carefully so it was out of harms way.

“’M fine,” he mumbled finally in response, rubbing at his eyes with the back of a hand before looking around the room again, irritated by the lack of lighting. He squinted at the clock resting above the mantle because that was what could actually _tell_ him what the time was, rather than him simply going by the light (or in this case, darkness) coming through the living room window, and he groaned again, forcing himself to walk forward so he could reach the doorway, following the sound of the low conversation that drifted through from the kitchen. His vision became clearer as he stepped into the lit corridor, blinking up at the bulb in the fitting as he made his way down the hall. He lingered outside the kitchen before actually walking in, unable to keep the smile from his face when he saw what was going on.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” He laughed, walking out to the middle of the room so he could get a good view of everything, not failing to miss the way Cas practically jumped when he caught sight of him.

“Baking,” Cas said simply, returning the smile as he dropped a bag of flour onto the counter. “Well, at least I _think_ we are. I’m not really …” Cas pushed a hand through his hair to keep it from his forehead as he turned back to the ingredients and bowls lain out along the surface, looking more confused than anything else.

“We _are_ baking,” Sam chirped, putting some sort of tray in the oven before setting the timer on his way over to the sink.

“Umm, okay,” Dean snorted, going to the fridge to grab himself a beer. “Can I ask why you’ve decided to start baking at quarter to eight?”

Sam glanced over at him as he dropped a bowl into the soapy water, taking the dishcloth from where it rested over the tap. “We have no other food.”

“What do you mean ‘we have no other food’? Cas and I only went shopping last Thursday – how can there not be any food?”

“There is, but –”

“Cakes are better,” Sam interrupted cheerfully, and Castiel shot an apologetic grin back in Dean’s direction before he went on to measure out more flour on the scales, and Dean rolled his eyes, wandering over to where there was already a plate of chocolate brownies cooling on the table.

“So you guys basically went out and bought a shit-load of ingredients for baking?” He asked, watching Cas turn around in an attempt to object, but Dean pointed a finger at Sam accusingly. “Don’t try and lie about it. I know for a fact we didn’t have any chocolate left in the house after that little bitch hoarded it all in his damn stomach.”

Sam and Castiel exchanged looks before Sam shoved the angel forward, and Dean watched on with the same confusion that was written over Castiel’s face, unsure of why Sam was being so forceful.

“Do your thing,” Sam prompted, pushing Castiel toward Dean again.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What thing?”

Castiel smiled sheepishly, looking over his shoulder at Sam. “Dean isn’t angry with us. I don’t need to do anything.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean started, setting his beer down on the table as he leant against the back of one of the chairs. “Did Sam basically ask you to charm me into forgiving him for the whole wasting-money crap?”

Castiel suddenly focused on him, his expression unreadable. “It wasn’t a waste, Dean. Everything’s going to be eaten.” He was pushed forward once more, this time smirking. “But do you not think I could?”

Dean grinned, reaching for his beer. “You know, that’s a _really_ difficult question." He opened the bottle against the edge of the table, bringing the mouth up to his lips. “But I’m gonna have to say ‘no’.”

Castiel cocked his head to the side, taking a few slow steps forward. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, look at you,” Dean giggled, touching at the dusted white streak in Castiel’s hair when the angel was within reach. “All covered in flour. You’re not adorable in the slightest.”

Castiel attempted a pout, his smile shining through, and Dean closed the distance between their bodies, simultaneously bending down to gently press their mouths together, his beer ignored for the time being. He’d take this over alcohol any day.

One of Castiel’s hands rested against the top of his chest, a finger looped behind the collar of his shirt as if to try and pull him ever closer, and it had Dean pressing his whole body into it, his free hand cupping Castiel’s jaw.

“Fuck,” he sighed, kissing the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “You’ve been eating chocolate, haven’t you?”

He didn’t wait for the angel to respond, diving straight back in and drawing out something of an excited noise from Castiel before the arms were resting lazily over Dean’s shoulders and Cas was opening his mouth wider.

He tasted absolutely fucking _incredible_! There was that slight bitterness of coffee beneath the sweetness that had Dean wishing Cas would eat chocolate more fucking often, and he backed Castiel up against the counter, encouraging him to angle his head to the left so he could taste absolutely everything.

He placed his beer behind Cas so he could wind his arm around the angel’s waist, pulling back carefully at the sound of Sam clearing his throat. Cas had turned pink, his eyelashes fluttering prettily as he broke out smiling again.

“D-does this mean we’re forgiven?” Castiel queried, his breath catching when Dean made the next kiss fleeting, barely lingering at all.

“You better be making pie,” he teased, slapping Cas on the ass when he went to move away. “I’ll be extremely disappointed in you otherwise.”

Castiel laughed. “To be honest, I think you’d probably be more disappointed with the results than the concept of not having pie at all.”

Dean picked up his beer again, taking a large mouthful as he went back over to the kitchen table. He could detect the nervousness in Castiel’s voice, and it kind of unsettled him a little. It wasn’t the guy’s fault, and Dean had only been joking, but he still felt like crap for even making Cas sound that discomforted.

He plucked one of the brownies from the plate, biting into it before he started back over to Castiel once more, holding it up to the angel’s mouth. Castiel looked unsure about what was going on but he took a bite out of it timidly, his cheeks still slightly flushed, and Dean smiled, kissing Castiel’s temple. “We’ll make it together,” he murmured, finishing off the cake before pulling out the drawer to the left of Cas’ hip. “I’m sure we kept mom’s recipe in here somewhere.”

He pursed his lips as he leafed through the empty envelopes and other loose papers they’d kept stored in the draw until he came across the dishevelled sheet, pulling it out carefully to lay on the counter. This and two of the cookbooks in the kitchen had been salvaged from the fire all those years ago, mainly because a cupboard door had been protecting them from the heat for the most part, but they’d never used it since. Dean had just kept it folded away as a form of memorabilia more than anything else, but although he knew it would never be as good as the ones his mom used to make for him as a kid, they could still give it their best shot.

“Leave the dishes, Samantha. You’re helping too,” Dean called out, peering into the bowl that Castiel had already poured flour into. “Hey, is it only flour in here, or did you put other stuff in with it?”

“It’s just flour,” Cas informed him, and Dean nodded, looking down to the quantities written in his mother’s cursive writing as he pushed all thoughts of what Cas had shown him regarding his mom out of his head. He didn’t need that kind of stress right now.

“Hey, Dean, while you’re in such a good mood, can I ask you something?” The boy questioned, bounding over to stand behind him.

Dean let out a mocking sigh, turning round to face the kid. He knew that whatever it was had to be a big deal if Sam had waited for him to be in a ‘good mood’ first. He was actually kinda offended that he wasn’t seen to be in a good mood most of the time now, because since he’d befriended Cas, he’d been happier than he could ever remember. Obviously there were things like Cas getting hurt that usually set him back, but again: he was trying _not_ to think about stuff like that. He’d managed to avoid the subject for most of the day without any issues, and if the idea started playing up now, he was seriously going to be pissed at himself.

The thing was, he should have been more worried than he was – about everything: their health, their safety – all these things that he considered terrifying.

But Cas … Cas didn’t seem to be struggling at all, and that in itself was enough to distract him. He didn’t find himself worrying as much when Cas was acting so damn calm, and he knew that the angel was trying his best to make things seem normal. Dean was so fucking grateful for it too, because he sure as hell didn’t want Sam paranoid about anything, even if it was about something as small as bad moods.

“Go on then,” he prompted, looking across when Cas turned round as well, his smile slipping slightly at the sight of the almost fearful expression on the angel’s face.

“Right. Well, you know the guy who lives down the street, like, a block away? The one you always say is ‘too friendly’?”

Dean nodded sluggishly, tearing his eyes away from Castiel so he could look at Sam instead. “Garth, right? Or something like that.”

“Yeah! Anyway, I saw him on my way back, and he offered me a dog.”

Dean stilled. “I-I’m sorry – _what_?”

The boy ducked his head, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “Me and Cas were talking about it before, ‘cos Garth’s dog just had a litter, and basically said I could have one for free if I wanted it.”

Dean rubbed at his brow, frowning when he glanced to Castiel again. Dogs weren’t … he wasn’t a dog kind of person. They were loud and clingy and pissed everywhere, and regardless of whether he’d ever want one or not, now was _definitely_ not a good time. There was food, and veterinary costs that they wouldn’t be able to afford, but most importantly: how the fuck would they be able to look after _any_ kind of pet when their lives could potentially be in danger? Dean couldn’t even ensure Sam’s protection at this point, and that was way more important than anything else!

“Cas, can I talk to you for a second?” He ground out, striding toward the doorway. He heard the angel quickly murmur out some kind of apology to Sam before Cas came following after him, a hand tentatively brushing his elbow when Dean stopped at the bottom of the staircase, and Dean turned towards him in confusion, ignoring the gentle touch. “Are you _seriously_ on board with getting a fucking dog – right now, of all times – when only earlier you were telling me you might have to _leave_ for a while?”

Castiel’s Grace dimmed considerably, the white lining turning a darker blue in comparison to the natural colour of his essence. “I never _said_ I was okay with it. It’s just not my place to make those sort of decisions when you’re not around.”

“So you _don’t_ want a dog?” He followed up for clarification, looking momentarily elsewhere at the sight of the guilty expression Castiel wore. “Oh for … you know, I thought _you’d_ actually be the one to tell me this sort of thing: how it’s stupid to make things more difficult for ourselves when we don’t even know what the hell’s happening right now.”

“Dean, just because I’m okay with it, doesn’t mean I’m unaware of how it’d affect us. It’s _your_ decision anyway; one that you can consider over the course of at least two months because Sam says the dogs are too young to be separated from their mother,” Castiel began, taking Dean’s hand shakily. “That gives us time to think about things and plan what can be done. If it’s still a stupid decision after Gabriel tells us what solutions we have available, then I’m sure Sam will understand.”

“Understand what though?” Dean pressed, making his voice even lower at the sound of the timer going off in the kitchen. “What the hell am I supposed to tell him when you have to leave?”

“ _If_ I have to leave,” Castiel corrected sternly, squeezing his hand. “I’ll explain matters should it come to that. I’m not going to leave you to answer any questions he has when explaining things prior would make more sense.”

Dean looked off toward the front door, rolling his lips between his teeth before nodding and sitting down on the lowest step.

He still wasn’t okay with it – he would _never_ be okay with it. It wasn’t even fair for _Cas_ , what with him having to go off on his fucking own to God-knows where.

Even if he’d never met the guy, demons would have still been a threat. They would have still walked the earth, still been able to see what he wanted or whatever the fuck it was they did, so Dean still didn’t understand. Shouldn’t he be safer with Cas in the home? Shouldn’t that mean Gabriel could continue protecting them all?

And he still refused to believe that Raphael wasn’t the one behind the torment, regardless of whether the bastard had promised not to hurt Cas or not. The archangels were the only ones powerful enough to do whatever the fuck they wanted, so what was stopping him? He didn’t have anyone else to receive orders or commands from.

Dean could only assume that it wasn’t Michael making Cas suffer because the archangel had never done anything to oppose Castiel’s actions. He was like Gabriel, only not really attached.

But Michael was who Dean wanted to speak with more than anything. Gabriel was helpful – he answered Castiel’s prayers as quickly as possible and he treated Cas with the respect he damn well deserved – but they needed something of a second opinion. Michael could have solutions or information – absolutely anything relating to a problem like this – and until they got some kind of response from him, even if it was just to say he didn’t know anything at all, then he wasn’t going to let Cas go anywhere.

He just wanted to hear something reassuring – something that didn’t mean Castiel had to be temporarily rendered homeless and alone, because that really was one of the harshest things to make Cas go through again. A home was where you were meant to be safe, and for once, Dean was being told this was essentially the one place he wasn’t. Sure: Gordon couldn’t harass him here. Yes: he didn’t have to go around feeling belittled and weak, but this was where he was most vulnerable. Gordon wasn’t a threat in comparison to a creature that didn’t even have to _touch_ to inflict physical damage, and dying was way worse than a few homophobic insults. They couldn’t even _hide_ here. There were things that would apparently hunt Cas in spite of this should-be-dependable place Dean had always considered to be safe.

He was beginning to find it more and more difficult to breathe, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as that tightness weighed in on his skull, and he pushed up onto his feet, steadying himself against the wall before separating his and Castiel’s hands.

“I … I need to go,” he choked out, ripping his jacket from the coat rack as quickly as he could, panicking somewhat when the angel grabbed his arm. “N-no, Cas – _please_! You don’t understand!”

He needed distance. It was too confining – too cramped – and right now all he could think about was an escape.

But Castiel let go almost immediately, taking a few steps back to give Dean space, and Dean was out of the front door in seconds, not even caring that he hadn't put shoes on. He darted over to his car, leaning against the bonnet to catch his breath and he pressed his forehead to the cold metal hurriedly to cool himself down.

It shouldn't have been like this. They shouldn't be worried or stressed or even having to discuss the topic of potential death because it wasn't right! They were young! They shouldn't be thinking about something so fucking horrible when they'd barely spent any time together at all! 

Cas may be over four-hundred, but that wasn’t old in angel years and he'd only just started his life here to escape all the shit he'd had to suffer through in the first place, so to have it fucking follow him like a damn curse was utterly heartbreaking! Dean didn't care if Cas hurt an archangel - nothing should allow him to be manipulated and pained when he'd finally started to be happy!

What hurt most was the false hope Dean had had in the beginning: the hope - the promise - that Castiel was going to be absolutely fine; that Cas was going to live until Dean passed on and then he would continue to spend time with Dean in Heaven. _That_ had been what he’d relied on all along: the reminder of what Gabriel had told him in the beginning. With or without the Gracial bond between them, Dean would have still wanted Cas there – he’d wanted Cas to be with him in Heaven from the first moment he found out it was possible – but what if that couldn't even happen now? What if Raphael, with his higher power and complete douchebaggery, wouldn't fucking permit it? What if Cas left, couldn't ever come back, and then Raphael fucked around so that they couldn't even see each other in Heaven?

Dean keeled over, his breathing pattern growing worse, and he gasped, trying to take in another breath as he dropped to his knees, his hands grasping at the licence plate of his car to hold him up.

"C-Cas!" He called out, wheezing as his arms became weaker, and he found himself unable to hold himself up, falling sideways into the snow.

He needed Castiel with him. He didn't want to waste a fucking second without the angel’s company.

"Cas!" He yelled again, his hands burning as they were covered with ice.

He could hear the sound of someone running toward him, the crunch of footsteps before Cas was pulling at his arm, lifting him up from the floor, and he clutched blindly at Castiel’s shirt, tugging his angel closer.

"Its okay, Dean. Its okay," Castiel murmured against the crown of his head, cupping Dean's elbows as he continued to raise him from the ground, but Dean didn't let go, not wanting Cas to disappear. That threat was far too large now – and completely within the realm of possibility. Anyone could take him away, or make him vanish like the damn angel blade, and that scared Dean more than the leaving aspect did, because at least Dean would be made aware when Cas finally chose to leave. He didn’t want a fucking repeat of his dad abandoning them.

Castiel guided him toward the front of the house, carefully helping him up the porch steps while continually speaking softly as if to keep him calm, and Dean clung to every word, finding comfort in the rough sound of his voice.

"Can you wait here for a moment?" Castiel asked, helping him sit down at the bottom of the stairs again once they were in the hallway, turning around so he could close the door. "I won't be any longer than a minute."

Dean could feel the tears run down his face and he wiped at his cheeks haphazardly in embarrassment, nodding to show he was fine with a few moments being on his own, and the angel kicked off his shoes before walking briskly down the corridor, his footsteps light against the floorboards.

Dean drew his knees up to his chest, his heart racing as he tried to calm himself down. He'd made Castiel upset - he'd made Cas' Grace turn incredibly dark in colour, not even his essence showing up against the grey - and it made him feel even more shit about the whole thing. Cas had been trying his best to stay positive with everything going on around them, and Dean had gone and fucked it all up!

But he didn't understand how Cas had been coping so well in the first place! This wasn't a nightmare they could just brush of, and for Cas to cope so damn well after something that big wasn't right at _all_.

He couldn't hear anything going on in the kitchen and it only made him more panicked, not wanting to have to continually lie to Sam about everything going on. He hoped Cas wasn't planning on making things too elaborate, because Dean couldn't handle anything like that right now. Pretending to be fine was one thing, but actually crafting a lie was what he'd wanted to avoid. Not only would it make things more complicated, but Dean didn't know how long he could go on lying like this. Even keeping Cas' heritage a secret was really starting to irritate him, but it wasn't any of his damn business to go talking about Cas like that without permission, even though he felt like Sam shouldn't be kept in the dark about something so important.

But then there was still that case of having to explain everything _after_ that - the stuff that revolved around demons and the torment, and everything else he'd already discussed with Cas in terms of why it would be a bad idea, but _still_ : he'd lied too much to Sam in the past for it to be considered at all fair.

He grabbed at the angel instinctively when the hand touched at the top of his head, pulling him close and pressing his forehead to Cas' stomach. "Cas," he grimaced, wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist. "Cas, I can't ... I can't do this!"

Castiel drew back, and Dean looked up in alarm, wiping at his face again. The angel crouched down in front of him, tapping him on the knee.

"We're going to go upstairs, and we are going to talk about this properly," Castiel told him, his voice soft as he pushed the hair away from his forehead with his other hand. Dean didn't know why Cas wasn't irritated - why he wasn't telling Dean to just remember everything they'd discussed earlier - because they'd _already_ talked about it at length. They'd stayed up most of the morning discussing outcomes and possibilities and all the other issues they might have to face, and Dean didn't want to have to go over it again. It had hurt too much the first time.

"No. No, no, no - I don't want to talk about it!" Dean blurted, covering his face with his hands. "I don't want to talk about _anything_ relating to your headaches o-or Raphael or any of the other bastards that hurt you!"

"Dean, you need to calm down," Castiel stated slowly. "Come upstairs and we can talk about whatever you want, just ... do your counting. Count down from ten."

Dean could feel the weight in his chest worsen and he dug his nails into his hairline to distract himself from the ache. He'd already counted down from ten twice now and _nothing_ was helping!

Things had never been this bad!

"It's not working," he said through gritted teeth, flinching when Castiel's hand wound around his wrist.

"D-don't hurt yourself," Castiel rushed out, pulling at Dean’s arm. “Please! I know this is difficult, but I can make it easier for you, so if you just come upstairs with me I’ll tell you about it.”

Dean let himself be pulled up, his head reeling as he tried to balance on his own but Cas was there supporting him, holding his biceps and staring up at him with that damn wounded look. He looked off to the side, knowing full well that Cas was examining him, and as soon as he felt sturdy he started up the stairs, even if he inadvertently pushed the angel away in the process.

It dragged on: the transition to the upper floor, and every step just made Dean feel worse and worse. He felt like he was going to pass out any moment, or throw up, and it was a far harsher feeling than anything he’d felt the last time they’d talked about this. He wasn’t sure whether it was down to the fact that he was actually _expecting_ the conversation or not, but he was still dreading every moment of it. There was no way he’d be able to put on his cheerful fucking mask around Sam when this talk was about to make things a hundred times more difficult.

He slumped against the banister, holding onto the wood tightly when he felt like the world was falling away, and he reached behind him desperately with his free hand, grabbing at the front of Castiel’s shirt simply to know the angel was there. He couldn’t ever remember having an attack as bad as this, but even with Cas nearby, he still found himself struggling with getting everything under control.

He didn’t want to remind himself of why they were so bad this time round because he still wanted to have faith in Cas, but he wondered if starting up on his medication again would at least make things easier for him to cope with. He didn’t want to suffer like this every time they had to address this kind of thing, and if Cas was going to be leaving, Dean knew that staying happy – or even make-believe-okay – without Cas there would be near impossible!

Castiel came up beside him, holding his own hand over Dean’s clenched fist, before taking another step around so that he was on the stair above Dean’s, moving in front of him and holding out his other hand for Dean to take. “We’re almost there,” the angel said quietly, stroking his thumb along Dean’s knuckles. Dean looked past Castiel's shoulder, taking in the few steps leading up to the landing, and he swayed a little, ducking his head so he could stare down at his feet.

"Can we ... stay here for a minute?" He breathed, dropping down to the stair gracelessly as his head swum again, and he leant back against the banister, loosening his hold on the angel's shirt even as Cas crouched down next to him. Castiel kept Dean's hand held to his chest even as he adjusted to a much safer position, and Dean closed his eyes, concentrating on the gentle beat of Castiel's heart over the light-headedness that made dots cloud his vision. It was much slower than Dean's own - almost at the resting rate - and he couldn't help but feel irritated by the fact that Cas had managed to relax so easily.

"I told Sam it wasn't his fault," Castiel murmured, his legs unfolding to rest over Dean's. "He thought he was the one that upset you."

Dean swallowed, his mouth dry and that nauseous sensation lingering at the back of his throat. "What did you tell him?"

“I promised to talk to him about it later … once I’d talked to you.”

“And what are you going to say then?” Dean pressed, rubbing at his face with his free hand before holding it over his eyes, counting to ten once more whilst he tried to regulate his breathing.

“That’s another reason why I need to talk to you first,” Cas admitted, still keeping his voice low. “I don’t want to have to lie too much about it, but I can’t keep saying that it’s something I’ve said to upset you. I’ve used that excuse too often, and he’s talked to me before about what I should probably avoid talking to you about, so I can’t really say it again.”

Dean worried his lower lip between his teeth, understanding exactly where Cas was coming from. It seemed like the past few times Gabriel had visited, he always bought bad news, and each time, Dean had been too slow to come up with an excuse for why he’d been so fucking miserable for the days that followed the visits. Castiel had been the saviour each of those times, taking the blame when he’d done nothing wrong in the slightest, and it actually put Cas in a pretty bad light.

And it was because of the _real_ arguments they’d had in the past that probably made Sam think that there was something wrong with them as a couple, because although Dean still talked to Cas after Gabriel’s visits, even he found the company a little unsettling, practically able to read Castiel’s thoughts and know exactly what depressing ideas flitted through his mind.

But Dean could think of something this time. He wasn’t going to let Cas take the blame for this when all the angel wanted was for them all to be happy, and he knew how stressed Castiel was about the whole protection ideal, no matter how hard he tried not to show it.

“I’ll talk to him,” Dean announced, resting his elbow on the ledge of the step beside him.

“Dean, it’s not that I’m unable. I’m fine with talking to him so long as you help me come up with something to say.”

“That’s not why I want to do it,” Dean muttered, taking in a deep breath before opening his eyes and glancing up at the angel. “Just let me talk to him, okay?”

Castiel was staring down at Dean's chest, his eyes watery and his cheeks flushed, and Dean moved quickly to pull himself onto the same step as Castiel, winding his free arm around Castiel's shoulders to hold him close. The angel turned into him, squeezing his hand and keeping his eyes averted. "Are you feeling a little better?"

Dean nodded after a moment, pressing his forehead to Cas' temple as he closed his eyes. The feeling wasn't so overwhelming anymore, and he could actually think properly now - about what was really important.

"When you said you had a way to make things easier, did you mean for everyone? You included?" Dean questioned tentatively, and Castiel squeezed his hand again, holding it tighter to his chest.

"No. It's a way to help you cope," the angel started, keeping his voice low. "I have two suggestions, really. One of them is more like a last resort than anything else, but I hadn't expected you to react so ... severely."

"If it's not gonna help you, then I don't want to hear it," Dean muttered, frowning. If it was anything like Cas' stupid offers in the past, the angel would probably end up suffering more so that Dean would be happy, and Dean didn't want that. He didn't  _want_ Castiel to do anything more for him unless it meant Castiel would benefit from it too, and yes: it may mean Dean didn't freak out and make Cas any more stressed, but if it didn't mean the angel - or even Sam - was any safer, then to him, it was pointless.

Castiel went quiet, his heart rate picking up a little before he drew back slightly, touching at Dean's jaw with his fingers until Dean reopened his eyes.

"One of my ideas was to simply talk to you, Dean, even if it didn't really benefit me. So until something similar to this instance happens to you again, can we just discuss this one?"

Dean searched Castiel's expression warily, wondering if this really wasn't something that would result in the angel suffering more, but Castiel's Grace didn't appear to be as dark anymore, slowly lightening back to at least a gentler shade of grey.

He got up carefully, twisting his hand in Castiel's hold so that their fingers could tangle together, and he waited until Cas was standing before taking a shaky step forward, continuing to climb the stairs. They didn't seem as intimidating anymore, but that could have had something to do with the fact that there were basically only three left. Dean actually felt kind of embarrassed to know that he'd made them stop when they'd been so close to reaching the bedroom.

It helped to know that Castiel understood why he'd freaked out, as opposed to judging him on how he'd behaved. Sometimes he forgot how similar they were, in spite of the reminders he received through Castiel's way of handling himself and now his memories, but it was more comforting than anything else. Cas knew what to do.

They were sitting on the bed before Dean even acknowledged it, above the comforter with Dean's head resting against Castiel's chest and their hands still linked between them. He could smell the same aroma as the brownies on Castiel's clothes - the warmth and delicacy making him feel far safer than he'd imagined himself to be during the ten minutes prior, and he stared up at Castiel's chin, angling his head so that he was able to see the rest of Castiel's features. He couldn't help but notice the normality of Castiel's Grace; the absence of that storm-like colour he knew to represent unadulterated sadness, replaced with this pastel shade of blue - brighter than his essence and making Dean aware of just how well Cas was handling things.

“How do you do it?” He queried, feeling Castiel's free hand settle on the upper part of his back, and Castiel shifted slightly, getting comfortable against the pillows in his seated position.

“Do what?” Castiel asked in response, looking down at him with curiosity in his gaze.

"Every time,” Dean whispered, swallowing. “Every time something bad happens to you, you play it off so easily when it’s not. It’s not easy, I …” He glanced away abruptly, frowning at his inability to stay calm for five freaking seconds. “I can’t fucking deal with it, and I don’t know what to do!”

Castiel's hand rubbed circles against the top of his spine slowly, and even from the corner of his eye Dean could tell that Castiel's Grace hadn't changed in the slightest, staying bright like it should  _always_ look.

"That's actually what I was going to discuss with you," Castiel started. "Distractions. We need to find one for you that doesn't ... revolve around sex."

Dean felt the heat crawl down his neck, pressing his face firmly to Castiel's body to he could seek out the beat of Cas' heart again.

"I know you mean well, Dean, but I don't want us to do something like that when it doesn't mean anything. There _are_ other ways to avoid thinking about the issues we have now, and if I do ever have to leave for a while, I want to be able to make sure you can cope in a healthier way."

"What do you do then?" Dean pressed; somewhat offended that Castiel had basically just implied that Dean would cheat on him to get by. He'd never cheated on anyone before - and the only reason he'd ever gone down the route of using sex as a distraction in the past was because he hadn't actually cared. He could find these people that would care about him for one night, making him forget about everything else for a few hours, but he wouldn't ever _dream_ of doing that again when he had Cas. Castiel loved him _constantly,_ not just when he wanted something or had nothing better to do, and Dean wouldn't throw their relationship away like that when he himself knew that Castiel was the best thing to have ever happened to him.

“I think about you,” Castiel told him confidently, and Dean looked to him again, trying to smile when their eyes met. “I think about how things aren’t always going to be like … like this, and that when we sort it all out, things can be normal.” The angel paused, loosening his hold on Dean's hand so that he could use his fingers to draw patterns over the back of Dean's wrist. “Wh-when I was in Heaven, I used to think about what it was going to be like when I finally got to meet you, a-and now, it’s more to do with … what I want for our future.”

Dean glanced down to watch the careful touch continue over his skin, more than just a little interested in what Castiel was saying. They'd discused what they wanted briefly, and in terms of the whole Heaven thing, Dean had kind of expected that since Gabriel first bought it up, but with everything else going on, Dean hadn't really had the chance to hear what Cas wanted. He'd thought about stuff himself - like how when Cas would get back from the whole leaving thing, they could be, well, like Castiel said: normal. He wanted to discuss _normal_ things - the sort of things they'd never really found the time to talk about - like what exactly they wanted to  _do_. Dean was trying to be incredibly optimistic, in spite of the fact that he knew something was bound to go wrong from here on out, but there really were a few topics he'd like to discuss with the guy. Obviously he didn't have much longer to go in terms of his classes, and his pay would be better once he'd fully qualified and taken up a full-time job at the repair shop, but Dean was curious as to what Cas wanted to do; like, if he wanted to keep on working at The Roadhouse or stop working altogether - maybe even take up a course at the college if he was interested in having a career of his own - but Dean didn't care what the angel chose so long as they were both safe from harm.

"Tell me about that then,” Dean prompted, listening to the pulse that began to quicken, Castiel's heart beating a little faster. He smirked for a moment, turning his hand over so that Castiel's fingertips could graze his palm. "You don't have to be embarrassed, Cas. I want to hear about it."

Castiel swallowed audibly, his breath moving Dean's hair a little. "Before Gabriel told me what it was – the emotions, y-your soul – I didn’t want anything,” Castiel said, the drawing slowing slightly as he adjusted his other hand on Dean's back again. “But you make me _want_ , Dean, and until you said what you did earlier today, I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“Cas, I’ve told you so many times that you can ask for stuff,” Dean reminded him, stretching out one of his legs to angle himself better against Castiel's side, raising his head so his chin rested on the angel's shoulder instead. "You know I don't mind doing things for you."

“That’s … not really what I mean,” Castiel laughed dryly, letting out a sigh afterward. “A relationship here on earth is completely different to those in Heaven, and I don’t think it very fair of me to force the angelic customs on you when it wasn’t even your choice in the first place.”

Dean pursed his lips, somewhat confused. “I don’t see anything wrong with it. I still would have said ‘yes’ if you’d asked beforehand, so it’s not an issue if you still think it is.”

“Well, what if we do it properly,” Castiel suggested, and Dean turned his head slightly, watching the blush crawl over Cas' cheeks. “I would really … forgive me for being so impulsive, but I would like to marry you,” the angel continued timidly, avoiding his stare. “I-I-I mean in the future. That’s something I think about, when I … want a distraction. The, uhhh.” Castiel linked their hands properly again, drawing them close to his mouth almost shyly. “The Gracial bond isn’t recognized here, and I want other people to see just how much you mean to me.”

Dean could feel the smile tug at his lips and he nuzzled his face against Cas' neck, feeling Castiel tremble as he breathed in that sweet scent. "So that’s what you think about?”

Castiel nodded lethargically, their heads brushing, and Dean could feel Castiel's lips press to the back of his hand. “Amongst other things.”

Dean rubbed his thumb over the back of Cas’ palm, still able to feel Castiel's heart beat and the utterly fast tempo from where he was positioned. “I didn’t realise you’d want to go through with the whole human side of things with the bond in place.”

“I want to _live_ as a human,” Castiel stated. “So I want to abide by your customs rather than make you live by mine.”

Dean grinned, kissing Castiel's pulse point. He’d only considered it earlier when they’d talked about what the bond meant, because Cas had said in the past that the bond in itself was similar – or even an equivalent – to marriage and Dean was actually pretty okay with that. Obviously, at the time, he’d just been pleased he had an excuse for them to be closer, but the bond was basically a wordless vow. Dean liked what it represented and what it meant in general, but he honestly hadn’t thought that Cas would want to go down the human route _as well_.

If he could be totally honest, Dean preferred the Gracial bond thing, more so because of what it meant to _him_ and the connection he had to his angel, but if Cas genuinely wanted to marry him - if that’s what he wanted for their future - then Dean would be completely on board with it.

He raised his chin when Castiel’s fingers brushed his jaw, amazed by the pure white glow that now surrounded Cas’ form.

“See?” Castiel whispered, glancing fleetingly to Dean’s chest, smiling. “Distracted.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make it more cheerful, but at this rate, I don't think the end's gonna be all that happy. It's the one part I haven't decided on yet, and I have five different versions at my disposal. 6+ more chapters and I guess we'll just have to see where my mood takes me.
> 
> If it makes you feel any better, none of the options are as depressing as the end to Twist and Shout. I can promise you that.


	20. I Can Wait

I can't explain the state that I'm in   
The state of my heart, he was my best friend   
Into the car, from the back seat   
Oh admiration in falling asleep   
All of my powers, day after day   
I can tell you, we swaggered and swayed   
Deep in the tower, the prairies below   
I can tell you, the telling gets old   
Terrible sting and terrible storm   
I can tell you the day we were born   
My friend is gone, he ran away   
I can tell you, I love him each day   
Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged   
I can tell you I love him each day   
Terrible sting, terrible storm   
I can tell you...

_Sufjan Stevens_

 

 

It didn’t take long before Castiel found himself lain against the pillows with Dean atop him, hands framing his face and thighs pinning his hips to the mattress, and he pushed up into every slow kiss, his fingers skating over the man’s jeans as he lost himself in the soft yet desperate press of Dean’s lips. He could taste the saltiness of Dean’s tears from earlier, the man’s flushed face still damp and glistening, but Castiel couldn’t help but focus on how very calm he was in this moment in time, his breath rate regular and his muscles relaxed.

Castiel hadn’t expected such a fast change in the man’s attitude – nor had he expected Dean to recover so quickly from his prior panic attack, but he was coping incredibly well and Castiel couldn’t help but feel proud of him. He’d thought that perhaps Dean would question him further on other means of distraction because he knew that finding an adequate focal point wasn’t easy. Castiel had been using a similar thought process for over a year now in order to keep him distrait, preventing his mind from wandering to the more problematic issues he’d encountered, and _still_ to this day he hadn’t perfected a method in which he could hold on to such optimistic ideals when everything else was going on around him.

But getting Dean distracted now – even if it didn’t work out for the man as well as it did Castiel – gave him more time to rethink his other plans.

Something as small as _one_ positive thought was not going to have long-term effects in Dean’s situation. He knew that Dean had tried similar methods of thinking in order to control his attacks in the past, and the only thing that ever seemed to work efficiently was his breathing technique.

The technique that Dean claimed hadn’t worked earlier on.

If his counting and breathing method no longer helped, or rather, if they didn’t help in situations as severe as this, then Castiel didn’t know what he would be able to do when Dean was left on his own for however long Castiel had to go for, and it wasn’t a question of whether or not a relapse would occur because it was _bound_ to happen. There’d been occasions when Dean had had over six panic attacks in a single week, and although that had been more than four years ago, that didn’t mean there wouldn’t ever be a case as severe as that ever again. The man was vulnerable and still susceptible to stress and anxiety. Even depression was a likely outcome of this event, but Castiel didn’t want to think about that aspect. Dean had been too well as of late for Castiel to want to consider such an outcome. It was what he was afraid of; knowing just how close it was to Dean’s birthday – his twenty-third year.

The year he’d been foretold to end his life.

Castiel had had fairly high hopes until Dean’s attack had occurred before, praying that perhaps their future would be as bright as Castiel wanted it to be, but the dread had been worming its way into his thoughts, forcing him to consider as to whether it was actually his falling that was the reason as to why Dean would go down the route of suicide in the first place. It was an incredibly arrogant ideal because he most certainly didn’t consider himself to be the only person that mattered in Dean’s life, but since their meeting Dean had been doting on him for company and support. Castiel hadn’t been reading his mind, but Dean’s soul alone had been showing the effect of a major depressive disorder. He’d read about humans who had suffered with an issue similar in the past – the humans that stupidly _hadn’t_ been assigned a guardian to watch over them – and he’d known that in spite of the way he had aided Dean as a child, the man had been heading down the route of his predicted future regardless.

It was the care _now_ that Dean needed. The care Castiel was trying his best to give without the aid of his Grace.

Talking had been something a stepping stone, but it wasn’t Castiel’s _initial_ idea as to how he could calm Dean down. It was more like the only decent solution he could make up in order to relax the man quickly, not really wanting to worsen Dean’s case by suggesting the erasing of memories. He wouldn't have erased _all_ of them. Only the events that had occurred last night.

Or rather, this morning. Castiel had no intention of removing the positive aspects of their evening spent together. He just didn’t want Dean to fret about the things that Castiel was more than willing to take care of.

He directed his thoughts toward something far more pleasant when Dean began to pull away, not wanting his Grace to reflect such poisonous ideals, and he simply stared at the man through lidded eyes, their noses bumping as Dean continued to hover above him.

He wanted to say something to corrupt the silence, but he found the quiet surrounding them relatively soothing. Instead he tilted his chin so that their lips could brush, and just like that they were kissing again; worries dispersing and warmth flooding his senses.

He ran his hands higher along Dean’s thighs when the man caught hold of his lower lip with his teeth, his hands pushing through Castiel’s hair before returning to the sides of his face, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. Castiel kept his eyes closed, letting Dean continue however he wished as Castiel sought out another solution for their problems – one that meant Dean could keep all of his memories intact. There’d been one idea that he’d failed to acknowledge until now – one that would almost definitely ensure their protection. The only problem with it was how Dean would take it. Given the man’s reactions to the topic in the past, Castiel doubted that Dean would be comfortable allowing Castiel to return to Heaven.

It wouldn’t be a _permanent_ return. Castiel just wanted to do some more research in the library for spells and the like that would ensure that _no one_ around him would get hurt. Not only that, but it was far more sensible than simply abandoning Dean with nowhere to go. In Heaven, the demons wouldn’t be able to reach him.

And there was assuredly no way the demons on earth would be able to hurt either Winchester if Castiel continued to monitor them whilst he researched.

The only problem he had with it was how the other angels would react. It wasn’t just a return because by now, everyone would have heard what life he had chosen to lead. Hester had found him to propose a bond, and Castiel would be returning with just that.

Only it wouldn’t be _her_ mark he’d bear. He had the mark of a human imprinted on his Grace, and he had no idea as to how his brethren would treat him.

There would be more of the disgusted comments – more so considering how few angels actually _respected_ humans in the way that they should – but then there would be the taunting, because in spite of the beauty Dean’s soul possessed, in addition to his extraordinary personality, Dean would be considered worse than a demon.

Castiel didn’t care what names he himself would be called, but he wasn’t going to allow _anyone_ to insult Dean. Not again.

He took in a sharp breath when Dean pulled away once more, the man reaching for the bedside cabinet; and Castiel sat up quickly, realizing exactly what Dean was retrieving. He laid a hand on Dean’s arm, meeting his gaze when Dean faced him again. “Not now,” he said softly, and the man blinked at him for a moment before grinning shyly, pulling out the draw so he could fumble about inside.

“I-I’m not, uhhh …” Dean started, his expression altering to something of concentration as he kept on rummaging through the contents, his other hand sliding down from Castiel’s cheek to rest against his chest, pushing him back against the bed. “Just lie down for a minute and close your eyes.”

“Dean …”

Dean leant over him, curling a finger in the material of Castiel’s shirt, kissing him almost carefully for a brief moment. “Close your eyes, Cas.”

Castiel felt the shiver travel through his body, doing as he was told immediately. He was slightly sceptical as to whether Dean’s intentions were pure or not, but he had complete trust in the man and he didn’t particularly want to upset Dean again by opposing his word.

But this was what he could flaunt upon his return: an _intimate_ relationship. A relationship where he and Dean could act as freely as they wanted. They could show each other they cared without restriction, where there was _more_ than just a tie between them. Well, in fairness, he and Dean had _two_ connections bonding them together, and that consequently strengthened the link overall, but he had a _family_ here. Dean had welcomed him into a family that would never abandon him, or torment him for his appearance or ideals. Here on earth, he could have anything he wanted. Kindness, friends – everything he’d been without.

And a lot of other things that those in Heaven would never be able to attain.

It amused him to know that his kin would never be honoured enough to have the relationship he and Dean shared. They couldn't reach out and touch their bond mate with the same privacy or intent, or even with the same emotion behind it.

They couldn't experience _love_ or anything equally as amazing. They couldn't wake to a smile; to wandering hands and gentle kisses to their forehead, realizing that their dreams and reality were one in the same. They couldn't sleep at all, and with the tasks and responsibilities assigned to each angel, they had no time to experience the feeling of laying for hours in someone's arms.

Love was something that they would never understand, and for once, when he returned, he wouldn't be jealous of their relationships in the slightest.

He lost his train of thought when he heard the draw slam shut, a hand smoothing over his abdomen, barely shifting the fabric of his shirt, but still Castiel kept his eyes closed, dragging his hands back down Dean's thighs in response.

"May I ask why you needed me to shut my eyes?" He addressed quietly, grinning when Dean took hold of both his hands, their fingers locking together as Castiel's arms were raised above his head.

Dean laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to the tip of Castiel's nose. "'Cos I've got something for you,"

Castiel let his smile soften, slightly confused. "Wouldn't it make more sense if I could actually  _see_ it then?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Dean hummed, pressing something smooth into Castiel's palm before dragging his fingertips over Castiel's wrists. "You can look at it in a minute. Just hold on for a sec.”

Castiel pouted as the man clambered off of him, the bedspread sinking to his left when Dean apparently seated himself there instead, and Castiel closed his fingers around the object, sitting up when Dean prompted him to.

He didn’t really know what to expect from this situation; Dean carefully cupping his jaw so their foreheads could rest together, and he opened his eyes slowly, even if Dean hadn’t permitted him to do so yet. The man was smiling at him, the shadows of the room accentuating his dimples, and Castiel glanced away timidly, looking down to his clenched fist. Dean lay a hand over it quickly as if to prevent Castiel from seeing what exactly it was he was being given, and he rolled his lips between his teeth as he waited, unsure as to whether he should ask first or not.

However, Dean was the first to talk, moving to kneel beside him on the mattress as if to make himself more comfortable.

"Just to make things clear - before you object to it or anything," Dean started, keeping his voice low. "I  _want_ you to have this. If I didn't, I wouldn't be giving it to you in the first place."

Castiel continued to look down at their hands, somewhat conflicted. To begin with, he still wasn't used to being  _given_ things. He'd known that Dean had intended to purchase gifts for him for Christmas ever since the man had first asked what he'd like, knowing Dean all too well to think that the man would simply abandon the idea altogether at Castiel's request, but this was different. Yes: Castiel had loved what Dean had bought for him, and the thought and attention Dean had given in terms of selecting the items, but here, accepting something more from the man so soon after such an occasion - more so to be given something Dean himself  _owned_ \- made him feel somewhat uncomfortable, even if the gesture was intended to be kind. Dean had already allowed him to wear, borrow, and in some instances take ownership of his possessions, and Castiel didn't think it right for Dean to want to pass on belongings to him. 

That wasn't to say he'd turn away such things, because although it may make him appear selfish, he didn't want to hurt Dean's feelings in any way. The man was only doing it out of kindness anyway, and because of their bond, Castiel already considered the little he owned to belong to Dean too.

He shouldn't have really been fussing over such a slight matter in the first place.

Dean's hand moved away shortly, allowing Castiel to finally take a look at what Dean had chosen to give him, and he stared down at his palm, stunned.

"Better than a condom, right?" Dean joked, but there was a nervous edge to his words that Castiel didn't fail to miss, the man following up with a quiet bout of laughter that did nothing to mask what Castiel could only assume was uncertainty.

"Dean, I ..." Castiel swallowed thickly, his heart beating erratically because in spite of Dean's want to be kind and thoughtful - and everything else that Castiel loved about him - this was far beyond his expectations and it was something he truly didn't feel comfortable accepting. "I can't take this."

"You can, and you will," Dean enforced, his voice concealing his nerves with a slightly stern tone as he rested his chin on Castiel's shoulder, reaching for the small silver band. "Like I said: I want you to have it."

It was slipped onto Castiel's ring-finger tenderly, albeit with shaky hands, and Castiel felt the heat crawl down his neck when he realised just how serious Dean was being.

"I don't mind when it happens; a couple of weeks, a few months - hell, I could wait years and still marry you whenever you wanted - but  _you_ are gonna wear that from here on out. I want  _everyone_ to know how much I love you, even if you're halfway across the damn world without me." Dean kissed the corner of Castiel's mouth forcefully, and Castiel couldn't help the smile that broke out across his face, trying to turn into the kiss despite the fact that Dean had clearly opted for resting their foreheads together once more. "As soon as we're better off financially, we're gonna do things properly - we'll do whatever you damn well want."

Castiel bit his lower lip, glancing down to the ring again. It was another moment in which he was unsure of how he should proceed because he  _did_ want to accept the ring, and not simply to avoid making Dean upset or uncomfortable. Well, the way in which Dean had presented it had definitely swayed him in favour of accepting it without complaint because once more, Dean was out of his comfort zone.

However, Dean shouldn't have been giving him something with so much sentimental value. It was one thing to wear something of Dean's, but to wear something of Mary Winchester's was another matter entirely.

What discomforted him even more at the thought of wearing something so very precious to Dean was the fact that during the occasions he had met with Mary in Heaven, he had lied to her. He'd been entirely false with nothing but a view of Dean's life on earth to gain her trust, so having something of hers really did unsettle him. He didn't _deserve_  anything this important, more so at the reminder that he had abandoned her in Heaven altogether, too cowardly to apologise for his mistakes. 

"I don't think she'd want me to have this," Castiel commented quietly, keeping his gaze downcast to avoid Dean's line of sight.

"Don't say that, Cas. If anything, my dad'd be the one to have a problem with me marrying a guy. Mom would have loved you regardless."

Castiel didn't have the heart to tell the man that wasn't what he meant, understanding that Dean was still relatively nervous. And to debate such a thing so soon after telling Dean the truth behind his mother's death in the first place would be cruel and insensitive, understanding that it was probably fairly difficult for the man to talk about either of his parents at this moment in time anyway. He shouldn't have been instigating an argument at a time when Dean was so very vulnerable - he shouldn't be instigating arguments  _period_. There was far too much tension between them as it was without Castiel bringing up another sensitive subject, unsure of how Dean would respond when he knew of Castiel's interactions.

He forced the smile back onto his face, only just realising his lax expression and how it could only make Dean doubtful. He adjusted his position so he could raise himself up and press their mouths together, draping his arms over Dean's shoulders so not to be too rough with his actions, and the man relaxed into it as if breathing a sigh of relief, his hands finding their way to Castiel's hair in some kind of desperation.

But still, Castiel couldn't help but think about it. When he'd told Dean of his history earlier, he'd barely touched on the subject of his care for Dean. The years that had followed had been far more eventful and corruptive than anything the man had witnessed prior, and Castiel  _needed_ Dean to understand everything before he left. He didn't want to bring it up now because Dean was still recovering from his earlier panic attack and Castiel certainly didn't want to worry Dean any more than the man had already worried himself. 

But his relationship with Mary was important to address, in addition to the relevance of his return to Heaven. 

The man may not enjoy being told such things, but if it would prevent Dean from fretting and continuing with little understanding, then Castiel would make Dean aware as soon as he could. 

 

 

*

 

"So, you're telling me there's nothing wrong?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely nothing?"

Dean frowned rubbing at his brow. "Look, I overreacted. You know what I'm like when I forget to take my medication."

Sam pouted, looking over to Cas who was examining the pie recipe once more against the counter. Dean was grateful for Castiel's lack of involvement, pleased that for once he could take the blame himself. Sure, it was a crap excuse, but it was the most believable solution Dean could come up with in the space of making out with Cas on the bed and the fire alarm going off downstairs.

He'd never told Sam that he'd stopped taking his medication a month ago, forgetting to take out the few bottles of pills left in the bathroom cabinet, but he was glad he hadn't - especially if he had to start taking them again. He wouldn't know how to explain the reasons why he'd suddenly need them after being 'cured'.

"You've been taking those pills for  _years_ , Dean," Sam sighed, his eyes drifting to Dean again. "How can you forget something that should be part of your daily routine?"

Dean dropped his gaze to the table top, trying to keep his breathing under control. It was a lot more stressful than he thought the conversation would be, more so considering this wasn't exactly a difficult topic to lie about. 

"It was New Year's Eve," he muttered. "And it's a bit difficult to stick to a routine when you're unconscious for most of the day. You do realised I've only been awake for an hour."

"That doesn't make it okay," the boy murmured, and Dean looked over at Cas in exasperation, not knowing how he could continue. They'd never had this kind of conversation before, Sam never really bringing up the topic of Dean's medication or the problems he even had in the first place, so this was kind of new territory. 

That wasn't to say that Sam ignored Dean's illness completely, but he never straight out asked about it, or even monitored his consumption of medication. It was something Dean hadn't felt comfortable addressing.

"I know it doesn't, but it won't happen again, alright? This was just a one time thing," he tried, watching as Cas wandered over toward him, reaching out a hand so he could pull the angel close. He didn't know how Cas felt about the excuse Dean had used, not really able to identify anything reliable in his Grace. Dean only hoped Castiel would understand why he wanted to start up on his medication again, even if it made him feel like shit to know just how much effort Cas had put in to making him happy in the first place. 

But it was that kind of thought that he could build on - especially after what Cas had addressed before. After this - after they got everything sorted out - Dean knew for a _fact_ he wouldn't need them ever again. He hadn't needed much to make him happy in the first place; all it seemed to be down to was finding the right company. The kind of company that could relate to everything perfectly without coming across as patronizing or selfish.

And now that their bond was effectively  _stronger_ , he doubted their relationship would do more bad than good.

 

 

*

 

Dean stared across at Castiel from the other side of the room, finding himself rooted to the spot as he waited for the angel to acknowledge him. He tried to call - tried to reach out toward him - but his joints were stiff and his voice soundless, everything aching as he tried again and again to get Castiel to look at him.

Cas continued to direct his gaze elsewhere, focusing on the stark white of the window pane, indifferent to the rest of their surroundings. Dean attempted a step forward, panic surging through him when his legs refused to cooperate, and he called out to the angel once more, struggling against the invisible bonds desperately when he caught sight of the flames creeping slowly from between the floorboards at Cas' feet.

Dean screamed at him, urging him to run - to get out as soon as he could - but nothing passed his lips, the heavy roar of the fire loud in his ears as it demolished their surroundings. He could only watch on in horror as the fire surged toward Castiel's bare calves, the sharp ache erupting in his chest at the first sound of Castiel's pain, and he forced himself against the restraints again, trying as hard as he could to do  _something_ to prevent Castiel from coming to any serious harm.

He couldn't even shut his eyes, unable to look away from the flames as they scorched Castiel's flesh, the angel crying out in every second of agony, pleading for help. Their eyes met at last, both of Castiel's arms outstretching toward him in urgency, but Dean still couldn't reciprocate, the beginning of the angel's words barely a whisper in contrast to the crackling of the fire; and within an instant, Dean found himself shooting up in bed, his heart pounding and the sheets tangled around his body. There were arms winding around him as soon as he was upright, hands splaying over his chest so he was supported in such a position.

"Its okay, Dean. I'm here," Castiel told him quietly, though his voice was strained and wavering, almost as if he was trying to conceal his own panic. "I'm here," he repeated again, kissing the side of Dean's face gently, allowing Dean to relax in the hold as he glanced around the room nervously. It was too dark for him to actually see anything significant, but that was enough to calm him, knowing that no light meant no fire. They were both safe.

He closed his eyes, resting his head back against Castiel's shoulder as he let out a shuddering breath.

The past week had proved to be more difficult than Dean had thought it'd be, despite the fact that things between him and Cas had been great. Hell, they'd been far more open since this whole engagement thing, going as far as to touch on the subject of 'family' until either of them had grown embarrassed or somewhat uncertain, but these nightmares ... Dean hadn't expected them.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Dean  _had_ been expecting nightmares, but he'd thought they'd be more familiar, not some new imagination altogether. These were twisted and harsh - or rather, more so than the ones he'd experienced all those years ago - almost summoning Dean's most dreaded situations to collaborate the same dream each night.

Dean was simply relieved he'd woken up before it had ended this time.

Fire was something he'd always had issues with in terms of the nightmares, watching those he loved become consumed by flames, but now there were more ideals poisoning his mind, worsening the outcomes of these invented scenarios.

After the first night, the phrase ' _I don't love you anymore_ ' had echoed through his thoughts for hours, keeping him awake until he finally convinced himself that Castiel would choose to come back when it did finally come to him leaving. He didn't even know why he'd doubted the angel in the first place, or even why his nightmares had revolved around that when he _knew_ that Castiel would definitely be returning. It would be completely out of character for Castiel to even _want_ to do that. Every time they'd had a fight - each time Dean had pissed the guy off - Cas had never actually gone far. He could remember what Castiel had told him, and what he'd done when he hadn't wanted to talk to Dean at all, and he'd always kept on the grounds, lingering outside the house because he hadn't wanted to leave Dean alone.

Like Castiel had said all those weeks ago: he'd leave whenever Dean asked.

And like he'd said just a few nights before: he didn't want to leave. Not if it could be helped.

This departure wasn't permanent, and Dean was already planning the things he wanted to do when Cas got back.

"I'm sorry," he garbled, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his left hand, focusing on the careful stroke of fingers through his matted hair. "You want me to sleep downstairs tonight?"

"Don't be stupid," Castiel murmured, breath ghosting over Dean's damp forehead. "This isn't your fault."

"But you need to sleep, Cas," he breathed, feeling Castiel's other hand drift down to settle over his stomach, making him shiver. "I'm keeping you awake."

The angel kissed Dean's temple tenderly. "I don't mind," Castiel insisted, running his fingers through Dean's hair again. 

Although Castiel said as much, Dean still felt incredibly guilty for it. They  _both_ needed rest, and Dean was preventing Cas from getting a decent night sleep. Hell, Cas was probably getting  _less_ sleep because of his stupid habit of waiting for Dean to fall asleep first. He didn't even understand why Cas had started doing it because it was literally ruining the angel's sleeping pattern - and it wasn't even necessary! Dean was  _fine_. Nightmares were  _normal_. Cas should know better than anyone that Dean'd get over them eventually, but for the guy to want to be continually woken up throughout the week, when he didn't even have to suffer through it in the first place, was stupid. 

And they couldn't keep this up when they both had to start work again in a couple of days. Dean was used to crappy sleeping hours, but there was no way he'd let Cas be exhausted throughout his shifts. Not when it'd affect his health too.

They didn't need any more health issues right now. Not when Gabriel hadn't even returned yet.

Yes, it had only been a few days - and that was what Cas had promised - but Dean was starting to worry because until Gabriel destroyed this 'seal' or whatever it was, Castiel was still susceptible to the same pain and torment. 

They'd put up warding, Castiel had talked him through the branding thing; but _this_ was what Dean cared about most. Castiel's future pain was the sort of thing that twisted in with the later part of his dreams.

He wriggled a little, grabbing hold of the comforter to try and untangle himself from the covers, sighing again when he finally felt the chill of the air.

"Do you want to talk about it again?" Castiel questioned, pulling Dean closer against his chest, but Dean shook his head, carefully taking hold of Castiel's wrist to move the hand from his stomach, giving himself some space for a moment. 

"There's no point. Talking isn't gonna change anything."

He prompted Cas to lay back down, slumping beside him on the mattress. "But I think it'd be best if I slept elsewhere until I get over it. I don't want to keep on waking you up."

Castiel frowned, tugging on the hem of the comforter to draw it back over their forms, before sliding a leg between Dean's and tangling their bodies on the bedspread soundlessly. It took all of Dean's willpower  _not_ to hug back; to not allow himself the warmth of Castiel's chest against his, or the reassurance of hands twisted in his clothing, because it was  _selfish_ of him to put that kind of contact in his best interest when Castiel would ultimately suffer. 

"No, Cas," he mumbled, tentatively pressing a hand to Cas' shoulder to roll him away. "I'm happy to sleep on the couch for the next few nights while you get some proper rest."

"And I'm happy to sleep beside you until these dreams come to pass," the angel huffed, fisting the front of Dean's shirt to drag him closer once more. "I am  _not_ letting you suffer through these nightmares alone, Dean. Not again."

That was another thing: the help Castiel had tried to offer when Dean had been cursed with the cruel thoughts the first time around; an offer to remove the memories regarding Castiel's history so those kind of images didn't return to haunt him, but Dean didn't  _want_ his thoughts tampered with. Everything he'd been told, regardless of whether or not Castiel had finished telling him of his past, essentially made up who Castiel was today. Dean didn't want to get rid of those memories when Castiel had  _trusted_ him with that knowledge, what with the intent being that they would both know about each other and all.

"And staying awake to watch over me counts as 'sleeping' now?" He asked, pouting. Cas made a light sound of laughter, kissing Dean's mouth affectionately. 

"Don't worry about that. I want to make sure you're alright first."

Dean didn't really understand that logic, given the fact that nothing could actually harm him with the warding in place. It was only  _outside_ that posed as any real threat, and even then, once Gabriel returned, that kind of protection would be issued as well.

But he was too exhausted to argue, his eyes aching and Castiel's warmth relaxing him into a state of stupor, not really caring anymore.

"Why'd I have to fall in love with a weirdo like you, huh?" He teased, although it came out as more of a slur than anything else, Castiel snuggling closer in spite of the sweat on Dean's skin and the dampness of his clothes, his fingertips scratching at Dean's muscles through the fabric of his shirt. "Go to sleep, Cas. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Castiel hummed, his breath touching at Dean's neck. "Don't be afraid to wake me if there are any more issues."

 

 

*

 

"You got _engaged_?!"

Dean looked down to Castiel beside him, smiling nervously at the look of utter alarm on his face. "Well, uhhh, yeah ... I guess we did," he supplied, watching Castiel's wide-eyed stare flicker to him for a brief moment, the corners of his mouth quirking upward, and Dean squeezed his hand, ducking his head in embarrassment when Jo made another excited noise.

"Mom!" She called, jogging over to the entrance of the back room to shove open the large, wooden doors. _"Mom!"_

"I didn't think she'd make this much of a fuss," Dean whispered apologetically, leading Castiel over to the bar whilst he waited for his friend to return. He'd wanted her to be one of the first to know, after Sam and Bobby of course, but he'd expected a reaction similar to theirs.

Well, similar to Bobby's anyway.

Dean didn't really blame the guy for his opinion because Dean had hardly introduced Cas to him at all. Bobby had only met Cas on the weekends, and they hadn't exactly spoken much; maybe exchanging a few words when they hung around in the office, but it wasn't really enough for them to _bond._

Bobby hadn't said anything _bad_ about Castiel, but he hadn't been fed the same lie about Dean knowing Cas for years beforehand so of course an engagement was gonna seem a little soon. The way the old man had implied it was almost as if Dean and Castiel had been dating for a few damn hours, as opposed to a few weeks, and yes, they'd only been dating for a month, but their relationship wasn't like the stereotypical couple's. Dean had faith that they would be together for a very long time.

And they weren't getting married right away! It could be years before they  _officially_ settled down together the human way.

Sam had been somewhat sceptical, saying something similar to what Bobby had told Dean, only it had that odd sense of belief that the boy had the same faith in the relationship that Dean did, and that had earned the kid at least two hugs on the spur of the moment.

Sam's approval was all Dean had really needed to set his spirits high, and it was the most important support considering the fact that Sam and Cas had to spend a lot of time together in the first place.

"Do you think Ellen will be as accepting as Jo is?" Castiel asked quietly, taking a seat.

"I hope so," Dean grinned. The angel looked to him timidly, and Dean sat beside him, laying a hand on his thigh. "Relax," he prompted, leaning back against the bar. "You think her opinion will change much? I'd still want to marry you."

Castiel went a little pink, looking over to the main entrance. The bar wasn't open just yet, but Dean hadn't wanted to tell the Harvelles' about this sort of thing with a bunch of people around, especially if anyone from his college showed up. He sure as hell didn't want Gordon finding out about this, no matter how much he loved the idea of  _actually_ marrying Cas. They planned to wait until after Dean'd finished college before they went through with it anyway, and obviously, they'd have to wait until they could see each other again. The angel may have told him that the whole leaving thing was just a probability, but Dean had learnt that recently, things hadn't been working in their favour. He  _expected_ Cas to go, and Dean would wait patiently for things to be determined as safe, no matter how long it took.

"I still have to make you a ring," the angel sighed, glancing down to his own hand. 

Dean raised an eyebrow, taking his hand from Castiel's thigh so he could drag his stool closer and rest comfortably against Castiel's side. "You don't have to get one made for me, dude. I'll just take whatever's cheapest."

"No, I'm making you a ring regardless," Castiel said sternly, blush darkening. He kept quiet for a few moments more, and Dean pursed his lips as he waited for Jo to come back, wondering how well Ellen was taking the news.

"Would you wear it if I made it out of my Grace, or is that a ridiculous suggestion?"

"O-out of ... can you  _do_ that?" Dean blurted, and Castiel fixed his gaze on him, his blue eyes bright despite the weak lighting.

"My blade is made out of my Grace. This would essentially be the same material."

Dean swallowed but his throat felt dry and tight, the tips of his ears burning. "Will that hurt?"

Castiel shrugged nonchalantly. "It didn't hurt to forge my weapon. Why should a ring be any different?"

Dean blinked dazedly as Cas attempted a smile, trying to understand how that would work. He'd never been shown how Cas had made the weapon through the whole memory side of things, but he'd completely forgotten that the weapon was actually  _part_ of Cas. It was so odd to think about, and now to have the angel offer to make him something with his life energy was equally as difficult to process.

He'd be  _wearing_  part of what he could only assume was considered Castiel's soul.

But in a way, that was like the whole soul-shard thing, only Dean probably wouldn't be able to toy with Castiel's emotions or anything - not that he'd  _want_ to.

Dean didn't really know what to think right now.

"Would it, uhhh, glow? Like you?" He persevered, because although it'd be absolutely stunning to have, he didn't exactly want anyone asking why he was wearing a light-up ring.

Castiel smiled wider, raising their still-linked hands so that the silver band on his finger was visible, glinting slightly when the light hit it. "Only if I were to touch it. It'd react to my Grace like the blade does, but in your possession alone, it would remain silver; like your mother's ring. I can replicate the pattern on yours for you, if you like."

Dean nodded slowly, kissing Castiel on the cheek before resting his forehead to the angel's temple. "I would. I'd like that a lot."

Cas petted Dean's hand gently. "Then I'll make it for you as soon as I'm able."

It was that kind of comment that had Dean wondering just how long it'd be before Cas really did have to go, knowing that Cas probably wouldn't have time to focus his energy on something so insignificant. Their safety was far more important after all, and he didn't want Castiel fretting over the creation of an object that Dean would happily wait years for; not when the angel probably had some sort of plan he'd follow. 

Dean had been avoiding the subject - much like with the whole 'nightmare' topic - because knowing the sort of shit Castiel had gone through in the past, that knowledge would probably be just as harsh. That wasn't to say he  _didn't_ want to know, because of course he wanted to know where Cas would be going and whether or not he'd be in danger or not. Well, the danger aspect wouldn't exactly make things easier for him, but as long as Gabriel could be there to keep an eye out for him, there shouldn't be much of an issue at all.

Hopefully.

It wasn't like that had stopped Cas coming to harm in the past.

Dean pushed that thought from his mind abruptly, hating himself for even bringing that idea to light. Gabriel  _would_ look after Castiel as best he could, and it wasn't as if Castiel was helpless. He'd probably want to look after himself as soon as the seal had been broken, and Dean wouldn't blame him if he said as much, but he'd still feel more comfortable knowing that Gabriel would continue to watch out for him - or at least monitor anything weird in Heaven.

The sound of clattering in the room next door had him breaking out of his thoughts completely, rolling his eyes and sighing when he heard Ellen shout out a "You better be joking, Dean Winchester!"

Wonderful.

 

 

*

 

Dean's nightmares became worse and worse as the days passed by, numerous occurrences preventing the man from sleeping well at all. Dean thrashed through his dreams, waking himself up with tears and gasping breaths, and a further refusal to let Castiel aid him. He wouldn't even allow Castiel to lull him to sleep with the energy of his Grace, apparently too afraid that Castiel would tamper with his mind in the process, and although Castiel would never do something like that without Dean's permission, he understood the reluctance prompting the man's decision.

But it  _hurt._ Not the accidental lashing out from Dean panicking in his sleep, or the way Dean cried out his name in the early hours of the morning, but the fact that Castiel could quite simply take away all of this distress in no longer than a second. Dean would be relaxed and his dreams would be peaceful.

He wished Gabriel would get back to them soon because it had been over a week and with Dean's current attitude, he was worried for the man's health. Dean accepted both verbal and physical comfort, but the man wouldn't accept anything that involved the use of Castiel's blade. Castiel didn't know what to do, frustrated and concerned because Dean was nowhere near the point of overcoming his nightmares. They were far darker and more severe than anything the man had experienced as a boy, and from what Dean had told him, he knew that it was a collection of Dean's greatest fears. The fire, the abandonment, and even thoughts of the man's own death were causing him to suffer for hours each night, encouraging Dean to stupidly lay awake for as long as he possibly could in order to avoid them.

"I'm never going to let anyone hurt you," Castiel whispered in reassurance, letting the man press his tear stricken face to the side of his neck as he bunched up Dean's shirt in his hands to keep their forms close. "I promise."

Dean continued to clutch at him, his tears cold in spite of his heated skin, and Castiel pressed his cheek to the top of Dean's head, trying to ignore the burning in his sinuses and the sting in his eyes. He needed to maintain his strength whilst he comforted the man, not wanting to make Dean anymore worried than he already was.

But if things continued this way, Dean was going to become very ill. Castiel didn't even want to begin to consider what would happen if Dean fell to a worse state whilst Castiel wasn't there to take care of him, biting down harshly on his lower lip to distract himself from the aspects he never wanted to consider.

They  _needed_ Gabriel now, even if for once it wasn't for Castiel's benefit. The archangel would understand the issue, and hopeful he'd agree with Castiel's intent.

Castiel may have made a promise, but Gabriel most assuredly had not.

He knew it was cruel, and ultimately an act of betrayal, but Dean needed to forget about Castiel's memories in order to banish the nightmares. Castiel would return the knowledge once everything was as it should be, and he would do everything in his power to make up for what would happen, but right now, the removal was essential to ensure Dean's sanity. 

The man would thank him for it later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	21. I Wasn't Saved

Lay my head, under the water   
Aloud I pray, for calmer seas  
And when I wake from this dream, with chains all around me   
No, I've never been, I've never been free

_The Pretty Reckless_

 

 

 _"Please_ tell me Gabriel's replied to your prayers or something," Dean mumbled sleepily, a hand slipping behind the front of Castiel's shirt to lay flat against his stomach. His chest was pressed firmly to the centre of Castiel's back, and Castiel closed his eyes, smiling when Dean nosed at the nape of his neck.

"I can't hear his replies in this form," Castiel whispered, dragging the tips of his fingers lightly over Dean's wrist. "But I've called to him a few times now. He should visit fairly soon."

"Fuckin' hope so," Dean replied, his lips brushing over Castiel's skin. Castiel pushed back gently into the touch of Dean's mouth, relishing the gentle warmth that accompanied each lethargic kiss to the top of his spine. The man hugged him tight, exhaling hotly into his hair, making the heat dance over the base of his neck and his face flush.

In all honesty, Castiel wished that Dean hadn't been awake to hear the prayers, not that Dean could understand the words even if he'd wanted to. Castiel was worried it would only make the man's condition worse to know that he'd been requesting Gabriel's help so desperately in the early hours of the morning.

He was trying to put on a brave front for Dean now, not wanting to seem weak and inept without Gabriel's aid, no matter how much it terrified him to consider the possibility of his headaches returning anytime soon. Gabriel hadn't visited for the past few Saturdays, and without future aid there was still a chance that Castiel's form could be manipulated. Of course, Castiel had addressed that multiple times in his requests, and not simply because he was worried for both his health and Dean's. He didn't know how Gabriel was faring on this search for the seal. He'd asked about Gabriel's condition frequently, requesting that the archangel stop by even if it were to solely assure Castiel of his good health because although Castiel had never really worried about Gabriel's wellbeing before, he most certainly worried now. 

In terms of Dean's nightmares, however, Castiel had only mentioned that issue once, given that Castiel still had hope. He didn't want to do anything so drastic when it would be going against Dean's wishes, and although he still intended to go through with it should Gabriel agree to comply, he was still set on the idea of persuading Dean to let him help. That ideal would be more exhausting on Castiel's part, but he truly didn't care. If it meant he could ease Dean's nightmares more and more each evening until the man overcame the fear, then of course he would want to go through with it. More so if it meant he wouldn't run the risk of erasing more than needs be.

He'd thought about it for a very long time: the after effects of erasing Dean's memories. He knew that overall it was a fell and unjust action to take - an action he most certainly wouldn't be forgiven for when the truth came to light - even if it was potentially the right call to make; but humans were fragile. They were delicate and anatomically different to angels, and every part of them was vulnerable.

Castiel didn't want to cause Dean harm by doing something _wrong._

He couldn't do anything without Gabriel to help and provide him with other solutions, and Castiel's power was too untrustworthy in his human form. Should circumstances be different and Castiel had remained in Heaven, then yes; he would have erased Dean's memories with no issues at all, but it was far too risky to do as he pleased now. Well, obviously now would be a stupid time to attempt it seeing as Dean was completely conscious, but he didn't want to worsen Dean's mental health by toying around with him and risking absolutely everything he'd worked hard for.

And it wasn't like he'd know what he was doing anyway. He may have tampered with Dean's thoughts when the man was younger, but not once did he ever attempt to rid him of memory - nor did he fabricate an assortment of details to fill the gaps where such memories had been relinquished.

Castiel didn't know what he could do anymore. Inventing memories was a different kind of lie altogether, and Castiel _hated_ lying to Dean. He didn't know if he could even play along with such a creation for as long as it was required. Not when Dean had every right to retain his original memories and even question the relating matters.

"The nightmares weren't as bad last night," Dean told him, his thumb running circles over Castiel's flesh. "Still hurt, but it was easier to think about."

Castiel bit down on his lower lip, knowing exactly why Dean had even addressed that topic. Castiel had told Dean over and over about his worries regarding the situation, and thinking about it now couldn't possibly be affecting his Grace well at all.

"I don't know whether to consider that a good thing or not. You're still suffering," he stated pointedly, deeming it useless to try and alter his path of thought when Dean had already seen such effects.

"But for the past two nights, I haven't had to watch _you_ suffer," Dean mumbled against his flesh. "And that's all that matters."

Castiel gently rolled himself over so that he could face Dean, trying to brighten his appearance. "You need to sort out your priorities."

Dean greeted him with his crooked smile, bringing a hand up to rest on Castiel's cheek.

"And you need to stop getting so upset every time you think about it," Dean insisted, pushing their foreheads together. "I'm _fine."_

There were dark shadows beneath Dean's eyes - marks that looked more like severe bruising than anything Castiel had seen the man wear before; Dean was easily agitated, nervous and aggressive with a lack of sleep taking its toll, and his paranoia had worsened, no matter how much he tried to conceal it, flinching at even the most careful of touches in instances that even Castiel didn't understand.

Dean was _not_ fine.

"I want to help."

The man moved his hand lower so it went to rest over the side of Castiel's neck. "I know you do," Dean murmured, stroking his thumb beneath the curve of Castiel's jaw slowly. "But they're just nightmares. I'll get over them eventually."

"Why must you always be so damn stubborn?" Castiel chided, shoving a palm against Dean's chest playfully. "You're an idiot for continually refusing my aid."

Dean grinned, bumping their noses together. "Look at you and your mild cursing," the man teased. "It's adorable."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't mock me, Dean," Castiel tried to frown, failing miserably when Dean pecked at his lips. He let the man take hold of his hand, looping his leg between the both of Dean's when his fingers were encouraged to brush Dean's solar plexus, the slightest touch still allowing the warmth of Dean's sentiments to flood through him. He pressed his hand to Dean's soul properly, working his thigh against Dean's clothed erection as the pleasure spread through his form, the man's calloused fingers going on to drag over Castiel's ribs, curving around to rest on his right shoulder blade as they kissed again.

Castiel could forget everything in these instances. He didn't have to use his collection of 'positive' thoughts to distract him, nor did he feel the need to seek isolation for a few short minutes. Of course, that may have had something to do with the fact that it was this kind of contact that instigated thoughts of their future without force, the pleasant ideals accompanying the more intimate moments they shared, acting as something of a promise that he never wanted to forget.

And yes; things had been a lot more stressful, and Dean had been incredibly tense as of late, but these things would come to pass. The nightmares would dissipate, whether that be through forceful methods, or over time if Gabriel disagreed with the act of erasing Dean's memories, and from there Castiel could build on his plans.

He still hadn't let Dean know about the decision to return to Heaven - he hadn't even informed Gabriel of his choices yet - but now wasn't exactly appropriate. Dean would be going to his class in an hour's time and Castiel had no idea as to how the man would react to such news. He didn't want Dean to lose focus when this part of his course was so very significant, and if it were to be a bad response, Castiel didn't want them to part for the day on bad terms.

Friday was only a few days away, and at least then they'd have an entire day to discuss it - and hopefully Gabriel would have arrived by that point, allowing them to talk about this one thing without other topics overriding the priorities of the conversation. But then, if Gabriel had arrived by that point, then the conversation would be far easier to manage anyway. Castiel wouldn't have as much trouble persuading Dean if he invented some form of memory where the man had claimed he was okay with the idea.

Castiel didn't particularly want to think about it, but there were lots of things he could do to make the talk easier. Gabriel would most likely call him an idiot for half of them, and he could possibly even reprimand Castiel for discussing such a thing; yet Castiel wanted to hear it. He wanted to be called selfish or idiotic for deeming it sensible to tamper with Dean's mind more than necessary, if only so Dean's good mood would be permanent, albeit artificial.

Castiel needed to remind himself that he _wasn't_ an angel anymore - that he didn't even want to have relations to his brethren any longer - and he hated to admit how needy he felt when he couldn't do anything at all.

He missed his Grace. He missed the power and the simplicity of altering situations, no matter how angry it made him to even _want_ that kind of energy in his body, because being human was more important. It was the life he _wanted_ to lead, regardless of how difficult it was at times, so to crave his prior power, in his own eyes, was shameful.

Dean was perfect just the way he was. Castiel didn't need to change him, and he most certainly didn't want to; not when he'd fallen for the very same person. The man needed protecting, not damaging, because Castiel knew that the character before him was who he was attracted to. Not a body fueled by fabricated lies and mutated truths.

Well, he doubted he'd stop loving the man if he _did_ change, but that wasn't the point. Castiel didn't want to _force_ the man into becoming different - more so in terms of personality - so the idea of thought manipulation had encouraged yet another issue to make itself known.

It was at this point that Castiel willed his own thoughts to fade to nothing, his palm pressing firmly to Dean's chest as the first notable pulse of arousal seeped through his fingertips. He hadn't wanted his mind to wander to something so dark when positivity was what he'd been relying upon, and he only hoped Dean hadn't been watching out for the changes in his Grace, not wanting anymore awkward questions relating to Castiel's true intent to be touched on again.

 

*

 

Dean was beginning to find it more and more difficult to keep awake during the day - especially since he'd been in this position before.

Only problem was, he'd been getting way more sleep in the cases prior. And this time, even medication wasn't doing anything to help.

He shuffled his way down the corridor on the way to his class, rubbing a hand down his face and pinching the bridge of his nose when the burning of his eyes worsened. It was difficult to focus when he couldn't even  _see_ properly, and he probably shouldn't have even driven to college in the first place when it was really friggin' hard to concentrate on the fucking road, but Cas was worrying, and if it'd make the angel more relaxed, then Dean would plow on.

Just like he always had. 

He kept his gaze trained on the floor as he turned to the left, eager to avoid the stares he'd found aimed his way the past few times he'd made his way down this hall over the last week. He  _knew_ he looked like shit, and he'd prefer not to have anymore comments passed on his appearance. He was here to complete his course, not try out for America's Next Top Model.

Rufus gave him the same slightly pitiful glance when Dean was finally sat at his bench, but Dean pretended he didn't see, looking down to his hands as he fiddled with a pen he'd left there a day ago. He wouldn't be surprised if Bobby had already had a word with him, given the fact the guy had been acting fairly concerned as of late, and not simply because of the whole engagement thing. Work had been difficult, even if he'd had music blaring through his headphones to try and keep him as awake as possible, resulting in carelessness and a couple of injuries.

Thankfully, it was only Dean getting hurt as opposed to it being a customer, but Bobby had still taken him aside to talk about it, asking why he wasn't being as thorough or wary as usual. He'd asked about the bills and whether Dean had been going to the doctor as frequently as he used to, and then he'd asked about Cas and whether or not the angel was the reason as to why Dean looked so damn sorry for himself.

Dean had almost laughed at that, but it wasn't Bobby's fault for having to make assumptions about what Cas was like at home. That was pretty much why Dean had asked him there and then if he'd want to come round for dinner the following weekend, even if Bobby had gone on to bitch at him for changing the subject.

But at least next week Dean would be able to prove just how amazing Cas actually was.

The class seemed to drag on for hours, and Dean didn't remember most of it. His sight was bleary and he was fucking freezing, and in general, he felt like he was gonna pass out. 

Things got worse the longer he went without Castiel beside him and he found himself toying with his phone absent-mindedly in the car for at least half an hour before driving back. He didn't even know why because he sure as hell didn't feel comfortable going so long without the angel at his side, way too used to the company and the safe vibe Cas gave off. Dean knew he was probably coming off as a clingy and needy bastard, and Cas was such a fucking sweetheart for putting up with all his shit, but Dean _hated_ where they were right now. He missed the simplicity of just waking up - after a decent fucking night's sleep, no less - to Castiel holding him, or when they could sit on the damn couch and watch tv without having to think about when Cas would next have a headache, or if they were all gonna be brutally murdered by demons.

Dean just wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted the nightmares to stop, and he wanted to be able to leave the house without feeling the need to take Cas' blade with him, and most importantly he just wanted to see Cas smile like he used to. None of that strained or tired appearance when things had been relatively okay.

But Dean knew Cas was trying his best. He only wished they'd never ended up in this situation in the first place.

 

 

*

 

 

It was Wednesday when Castiel found that he had run out of time.

They were sat at the kitchen table for dinner when it happened, and in all honesty, Castiel should have expected it. Things had just been so good as of late that he'd hoped their good fortune would continue.

Of course, it was wrong. It was idiotic.

Castiel was a fool.

"God, Dean, you're actually such a pig."

"Cas said he was full," Dean insisted, going on to shovel in another forkful of chilli almost as if to make a point. "Waste not want not," he sing-songed around his mouthful of food, and Castiel rolled his eyes, looking off toward the window when Sam snapped at the man for his poor table manners.

He wasn't full. Not really. In actual fact, he felt like he was going to be sick.

Not that he'd ever been so nauseated that he'd actually thrown up before, but his stomach was unsettled. It felt like it was twisting inside him, his mouth dry and the back of his throat tight like he was dehydrated when in reality he'd had at least three glasses of water in an attempt to relieve him of that factor.

"You probably put him off his food 'cos you're so disgusting," Sam quipped, and Castiel couldn't help but smirk, fiddling around with his cutlery when Dean muttered out some disfigured repetition of Sam's words in the form of a poorly crafted insult. Castiel didn't really understand where Dean thought such a retort would land him, but it only caused the boy to mock Dean for such a ridiculous sentence, the man blushing furiously when Castiel glanced over at him again.

Castiel personally didn't find such a rarity in Dean's dining habits disgusting, and yes, that was partially down to the fact that Castiel's own weren't exactly perfect, but Dean was tired. The exhaustion was written all over his face, and no smile could distract from the weariness in both his voice and expression.

His carelessness truly wasn't his fault.

But Castiel couldn't say that when it would only dampen the mood around the table, and Dean had even said in the past that he'd prefer Sam not to know about how little sleep he was getting, so there wasn't really any defensive comment Castiel felt comfortable voicing. Instead he reached across to touch at Dean's hand with the back of his fingers and the man let go of his cutlery immediately to link their hands together, giving Castiel a shy, almost embarrassed smile in response.

However, it seemed Dean caught on to Castiel's discomfort from the moment he felt the twinge behind his right eye, the sickening feeling growing stronger.

"Cas, you alright?" The man asked, worry lacing his words, and Castiel blinked across at him, his chest feeling tight.

He shook his head dazedly, trying to keep his focus on Dean, but it was difficult and he was struggling to concentrate on his surroundings, the familiar ache swamping his senses.

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is," Dean said softly, quickly placing his free palm to Castiel's cheek when he turned in his chair. _"Cas?"_

Castiel wet his lips, his vision going slightly cloudy. "I ... I think ..."

"Okay," Dean stated, a slight tremor to his voice as he stood up, taking Castiel's other hand. "Upstairs. Now."

"What's going on? Is he okay?"

"Cas isn't feeling very well. He just needs to lie down," the man uttered quickly, the chairs making a sharp grating noise as they were pushed back across the kitchen linoleum.

Castiel swayed a little when Dean pulled him to his feet, the pain slowly making itself known, pressing against his temples as he took a shaky step closer to the man. He didn't get to enjoy the subdued sensation, the agony hitting him full force within moments of them heading toward the doorway, and Castiel cried out, unable to hear the entirety of the worried shout Dean gave in return as sound was muted completely. His vision turned white, his knees growing weak and legs unstable, and no matter how much he tried to stay standing, he couldn't keep himself upright.

He was simply grateful he had Dean to hold him up, even if his head was angled awkwardly against the man's chest as a sharp, high pitched wail penetrated the silence. His eyes were still open but he remained blinded, the panic rising in his chest when he found himself incapable of any movement.

Castiel didn't know what to do and he was _scared!_ He'd never been made immobile through such instances in the past and it was terrifying to not only be paralyzed, but to be additionally rendered blind and deaf.

And _both_ Winchesters were present to see him fall to this state. Not simply Dean.

Castiel didn't know whether he should be embarrassed or worried, knowing that Sam had never had to witness these kind of troubles before. They'd been trying to keep the boy in the dark, protecting him from the abnormal happenings, and Castiel had ruined it all.

He clenched his jaw when the pain shot down his spine, the burning edging toward his shoulders, and Castiel could feel his panic worsen because the headaches were one thing, but to have his wings break free now would be far, far worse!

Sam couldn't find out about any of it - Dean's suffering was bad enough, and Castiel doubted the man would allow him to erase the boy's memories should Sam actually learn of Castiel's origin.

"Dean," he murmured, but his head felt heavy and he couldn't even hear himself speak, unable to audibly protest when an arm swept behind his knees and he was lifted from the floor. He buried his face in Dean's neck, not caring in the slightest how weak he may appear. He  _was_  weak; his body was aching and although he'd managed to move himself before, he could feel his hands slowly losing their grip on Dean's clothing, his muscles burning as if he'd just completed some excruciating form of physical labour.

Yet he felt more comfortable in Dean's hold than he did standing, the light headedness subtle as his senses became far more regular, regardless of the exhaustion.

But the pain was still there; the hot burning making every inch of his body tense in agony, and he was left feeling isolated and cramped, tears running down his face as a pressure weighed down on his skull. 

 

*

 

Two days.

Castiel had been immobilized for almost  _two fucking days_.

He couldn't even sit up properly; his limbs weak and his hands shaking whenever Dean tried to help him go about the house, so he'd had to stay in bed. Alone. For the most part of forty-eight hours.

Dean couldn't afford to skip work when Cas couldn't take a shift, even if Ellen had claimed to understand the situation and didn't mind giving them both paid leave, but Dean wasn't gonna go swanning off back home and leave Jo to cover for them. That wasn't fair in the slightest, and it wasn't like  _Dean_ was unable. He could keep working, no matter how much he wanted to be back at the angel's side.

He checked his phone for what felt the hundredth time, perpetually worrying for the worst. Sam had promised to call him first, even though after the last incident, the kid had tried arguing that an ambulance was better, but no doctor would be able to fix this. Until Gabriel finally decided to drop in, Cas was utterly fucked.

"Go home."

Dean looked up sharply to where Jo was setting down her tray on the bar, frowning.

"What?"

"Go home, Dean. I can cover for you tonight," she stated, sweeping her hair back from her face. "I don't even know why you bothered coming in. You look like you could pass out any second."

"I'm fine," Dean grumbled, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. "And I'm  _staying_."

Jo stared across at him, a stern look in her eyes. Dean made sure to face away, making himself seem busy as he collected the empty glasses a few customers had left on the bar earlier. The place wasn't exactly  _bustling_  with people, which was kinda surprising given that it was a Friday night and all, but he'd barely had to serve anyone.

He knew Jo was doing it on purpose: attracting attention and taking orders when Dean turned his back for a brief moment to stack the glasses back on the shelving. He'd have a go at her if he wasn't so damn grateful to be given such frequent breaks.

He could barely focus on what his hands were doing, fumbling every time he so much as went to wipe down spillages on the bar. The noise wasn't exactly helping, his head pounding as he leant against the wooden counter. 

All he wanted was to get some fucking sleep. A couple of hours at least before he went to the garage on Saturday morning, but he knew the chances of that happening were practically zero to none, more so since he'd chosen to sleep downstairs. It wasn't like Cas could force him to stay up in the bedroom, and the guy needed just as much rest as Dean did - if not more! Dean could walk around, he could do chores and still make an attempt to go about with his daily routine, and Cas couldn't do anything. All he _could_ do was lay in bed on the verge of fucking tears because things just kept getting worse and worse.

Dean didn't want to keep the angel awake when sleep was the only thing Cas had to help him, and sure, it had fucking killed him to see the expression on Castiel's face when Dean had abandoned him on Wednesday night, but Castiel's health right now was way worse than Dean's. Hell, at least they knew what Dean was suffering with! This whole sigil thing was so fucking unspecific and Castiel's symptoms were  _constantly_ changing. 

Not only that, but they had no idea as to how it was even affecting him  _inside_. Castiel might not have bled from his eyes like he had the last time, but that didn't mean his organs weren't being corrupted or anything.

Dean jolted as the hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he pulled away abruptly, cursing when his elbow slammed against the edge of the bar.

Jo took a step back, her eyes full of concern, and Dean covered his face with his hands, squatting down to the floor. He bit down on his lower lip harshly to keep himself from crying, gnawing on the skin until the metallic tang of blood touched his tongue and he was made to feel even more ill than he had before.

"Jesus, Dean," she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the music and conversation going on around them, but Dean could tell that she was beside him now. He doubted he'd be able to hear her talk normally if she'd continued to stand, let alone as softly as she was here.

"Go home," she repeated again, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. "You go home right now, okay? I'll take care of things here."

"No," Dean grimaced, rubbing his fingers against his temples to try and lessen his headache. "This was meant to be your fucking night off, Jo. It wasn't even fair of me to ask you to take on Cas' shift."

"Yeah, well, Cas is sick, and you look like you've caught whatever he has. I don't care if you think it's unfair - I'm telling you to go home and get some rest," Jo persevered, putting on the same voice Ellen used when she wanted the trash taken out back  _immediately._ "And if we phone Bobby tomorrow and find out you've shown your face at the garage, so help me I will ban you from the fucking bar until you bring a note from a doctor saying you're fit to work."

"Jo, you can't -"

"I can do whatever the hell I want! Mom's already said she thinks you'd be better off at home for a week or something," she insisted, pushing him lightly. "You look like  _hell_ , Dean. When was the last time you actually got a good night's sleep?"

_December._

Dean shrugged, wiping at his eyes hastily before glancing off in the opposite direction, facing away from Jo's position in embarrassment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ended up crying in front of her. Probably wasn't too long ago to be perfectly honest.

"C'mon. I'll get my keys."

"Don't be stupid," Dean huffed, standing up on shaky legs. "I can walk."

"Like fuck am I letting you walk home when you can barely even stand. Go wait in the truck, moron. I'll be out in a minute."

Dean sighed as he made his way round the bar and over to the doorway, steadying himself by running his hand along the wall until he was outside.

He knew Jo would only throw a bitch fit if he started walking home regardless, and that'd just lead to Ellen getting all pissy with him as well, and yes, he should have been grateful to know people as fucking caring as them, but he hated having others go out of their way to do stuff for him. He was barely fine with Cas doing everything for him, and even then it was just 'cos he knew there was a shit ton of complications regarding the fact that Cas had been  _trained_ to do just that - not that Dean had given up on trying to get the angel to stop. 

He walked over to the truck, trying the handle and groaning when he found it locked. He slumped against the door, pulling his jacket tight around him. He hadn't bothered taking it off in the bar, mainly because of how damn cold it was in there, but he was beginning to realise that was the stupidest thing he could have done. The temperature right now was  _awful_ , and the fact that the car door was covered in ice wasn't exactly helping either. _  
_

Dean drew away from the truck, pacing back and forth as the snow crunched beneath his shoes, his headache only seeming to get worse the longer he stayed out in the cold air. He was considering turning around to go back inside when he heard the footsteps behind him, and he forced a smile on his face, knowing that he should probably show his gratitude as opposed to feigning nonchalance.

But the smile was quickly wiped from his face when he found some other girl in Jo's place, and Dean took a step back warily, shooting a quick glance in the direction of the bar's entrance. It only provoked the girl to follow pursuit, stepping closer with some form of a twisted smile on her red painted lips.

The events regarding Meg's approach flashed through his mind and he could feel his blood run cold, keeping his eyes trained on the girl's face as he took another step backwards, desperate to keep as much distance between them as possible.

"Dean Winchester," she drawled slowly, flicking her dark hair back over her shoulder before smoothing down the front of her skin tight black dress. "You have no idea what I had to do to be the one to answer your call."

Dean ran his eyes over her frame, taking in the lack of shivering and blatant disregard to the cold around her, his hands trembling as he subtly reached for the inner pocket of his jacket, desperate to find Castiel's blade.

And that's when he remembered where it was; where he'd left it.

How he'd insisted Cas keep it with him to protect him from any more headaches.

Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

"I didn't call anyone," he swallowed, backing up again when the girl - or  _demon_ , as he understood it - took yet another stride closer. The panic twisted through his chest when he felt the press of cold metal through the back of his jeans, swallowing thickly again when the demon closed in on him, amusement clear in her expression.

"Oh sweetheart, you most certainly did," she smiled, tilting her head to the side as she placed a hand over the centre of his chest. "What's this about your precious angel, hmmm? I hear there's something very, very wrong with that pretty little head of his."

"Shut up," Dean ground out weakly, his mouth dry and his heartbeat positively erratic because what the fuck could he do? The last time he stood up to a demon he'd had Cas to protect him, but even if Jo came out to help, she'd probably only end up getting hurt too.

He could feel his eyes tear up again, his headache not helping in the fucking slightest as he tried to come up with some kind of plan.

He couldn't run - Cas had told him demons could manipulate the human body however they wanted and Dean didn't want to die. He didn't want to have his bones broken or find himself paralyzed in the middle of the road.

He _couldn't_ escape, and without Cas' blade he couldn't even _defend_ himself!

"Bless," the demon giggled. "Would you like to know what's happening to him? Or, perhaps, you'd like to know how long you have left before he dies?"

"Shut  _up_ ," Dean repeated again, closing his eyes as he tried to will those kind of thoughts from his mind. Cas  _wasn't_ going to die. Gabriel had _promised_ Cas wouldn't die and until the archangel said otherwise, Dean wasn't gonna believe anyone else's word.

But in spite of what he'd been told during the past few visits, Dean still had doubts. Gabriel had come across just as uncertain as Dean had felt - _and Gabriel was a friggin' angel_! The guy should know about all this stuff anyway, and if he didn't, he sure as hell shouldn't have let Cas fall. Dean knew it was Castiel's choice and all, but he should have been protected. Gabriel should have made sure everything was fine first.

"Poor feathers doesn't seem to be reacting to demon blood very well, does he. It's a shame, really. We thought we'd be able to enjoy this for a bit longer than two more weeks."

Dean shoved at her harshly, the tears burning at his eyes. "He's not gonna fucking die! He's  _not!"_

She laughed at Dean again, forcing him up against the truck door, a hand at his throat.

"You pitiful creature," she exclaimed, placing her other hand at his hip. "You don't know the _half_ of what he's going through right now."

Dean struggled in her hold but she only pressed back with more force, making it far harder for Dean to breathe.

_What the fuck was taking Jo so long?!_

"It's your birthday next week, isn't it, honey," she continued, and Dean grabbed at her wrist to ease the pressure, surprised when she loosened her grip slightly. "Wouldn't it be utterly heartbreaking for his life to end the moment you woke up? He'd suffer of course. He's suffering now. Brave little soldier that he is thinks he's doing you a favour by pretending he's not in constant pain."

"Why are you doing this?!" Dean blurted, his voice cracking as the tears rolled hotly down his face. "Is this a fucking  _joke_ to you?!"

"I'm just giving you the honesty you deserve," she shrugged, shaking her head. "The angels aren't going to be able to help him. Not that any of them seem to  _want_ to." She paused, smiling slightly as her hand dropped from Dean's throat altogether. "But _I_  can. If you'd agree to it, of course. I'd need a little something to make it worth my while."

Dean knew what it was. He remembered every last thing Cas had ever told him about demons - what they needed to make these business transactions - and he could feel his stomach drop; fear and panic and now fucking  _doubt_ churning away inside him as he stood facing this utter abomination.

And he still couldn't keep himself from crying because he knew already that Cas was putting on a brave front around him, trying to make it seem like he was hurting less than he actually was; he knew that whatever it was fucking with Castiel was  _incredibly_ serious, and just like the demon had said, Dean didn't know what the fuck was happening to him.

And Gabriel had explained fuck all to him, going on about a sigil on Cas' spine and some spell controlling him with it, but this demon was saying it was something to do with _blood_?  _Demon blood_ , no fucking less? Gabriel hadn't ever mentioned that or what could potentially happen if Cas got some of it in his system!

Dean didn't know what the hell he could do with that new information! He didn't know if it was the truth or another lie, and to be perfectly honest, he didn't even trust Gabriel's word at this point what with how long the guy had been absent. The only person he actually trusted was Cas, and even  _he_ didn't really have a clue as to what it was.

Dean knew it could have been anything - it could have simply been a reaction to turning human - but to hear that Cas could die at any point over the next two weeks had his mind spinning with all the options at his disposal.

"What can _you_ do?" He choked out, glancing to the bar door again, his headache worsening. "What can you do that's so fucking special? Why can't an  _angel_ do it?"

Castiel had talked to him about that - saying that demons had similar abilities to angels, only they did a hell of a lot more to give people what they wanted. The angels apparently didn't care about anyone other than members of charge, and demons had, in the opinion of others, always been considered the next best thing - if not better. 

"Because angels don't have the same contacts I do," she said, grabbing his chin so that they continued to face each other. "They don't know who it is behind your lover's torment."

But they  _did_ know! Castiel had told Gabriel who it was that had cast the spell on him in the first place, and that sure as hell wasn't a name Dean would forget. He wanted the bastard to pay for everything he put Cas through because he doubted a demon would have been kind to the angel at all - especially if he'd been carving shapes into the back of Castiel's neck!

"Alastair," Dean informed her bitterly, his voice husky with discomfort, but the demon only snorted with laughter, sniggering cruelly.

" _Alastair_? You think that lowlife has the power to kill an angel?" She sneered, leaning in. "If he was _that_ powerful your angel would have been killed a long time ago."

Dean took in a sharp breath, hating the topic of conversation and where it could potentially lead.

"Cas said -"

"Well he's _wrong,_ " she interrupted abruptly, the smile falling from her face.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, hoping over and over that Jo would at least step outside and see that Dean was being fucking _harassed_! Jo mightn't be able to fight the demon off but Dean knew the demon wasn't gonna kick up a scene when there were people around to see. Cas had said they rarely risked harming humans so they didn't scare off 'potential buyers'.

And he'd also said that not every demon was  _untrustworthy_. He'd said there'd been cases in the past where demons were cooperative and helpful, and Dean hadn't met many - the ones in Castiel's memories included - but this one wasn't anywhere near as frightening as the ones Castiel had fought during that war.

There was a possibility that she wasn't even lying, and of  _course_ this demon was gonna have information on other demons - especially demons that Gabriel didn't fucking know about. It wasn't all that unbelievable.

"But I'll tell you what, Dean Winchester," the girl continued, her nails scratching over Dean's jaw line, catching on his stubble. "You make a deal with me to guarantee Castiel's good health for years to come, and I'll tell you who it is manipulating your beloved as an added bonus. How's that sound?"

Dean could feel his panic build at the knowledge of just how serious this was - Castiel's words flooding through his thoughts like a fucking tidal wave.

All Dean wanted to do was  _help_ and if Gabriel was going in the wrong direction because there were even more demons responsible, then those bastards needed to be hunted down instead.

"What'll happen to me?" He asked quietly, his voice wavering despite his want to sound confident.

Castiel hadn't told him much about what happened to people who made deals - just that their lifespans were shortened and their soul was kept somewhere else. Dean didn't know how significant that was, but so long as he could still see Cas in Heaven, he didn't give a damn where his soul ended up.

The demon smiled at him again and Dean was beginning to see the differences between her and Meg, not that there were all that many. This one wasn't anywhere near as heavy handed for a start, and she'd stopped mocking him a while back.

Dean didn't know how good a sign that was, but from what he remembered of Meg, she'd gone on to harass Castiel too.

And then she'd thrown them both up against the wall when she didn't get what she wanted.

"You'll have ten years of undisturbed happiness," she assured him. "Castiel will never come to harm again."

"But then what?"

"Then I'll find you when your time's up to take your soul," the demon murmured, sliding a hand up Dean's chest once more. "A lot of demons want it, Dean. Angels too. Castiel's done a good job at making sure yours is better than everyone else's. Makes you more valuable."

Dean shivered at the thought of being considered nothing more than a trophy - especially when it'd mean he wouldn't belong to Cas anymore. There was a certain safety associated with belonging to Cas and if Dean could give his soul to anyone, Cas would have been first on his list. The angel had done so damn much for him to make sure his soul was as bright as it was - or rather, _had_ been - but even though he wouldn't be giving Cas his soul, wasn't this better? Wasn't it more _worthwhile_ _?_ Castiel would get healthier and _stay_ that way!

He wouldn't have to suffer anymore.

"If I ... if I said yes, you'd definitely tell me who's been hurting him?" Dean addressed for confirmation, wanting to get as much out of this deal as he possibly could.

"Of course. I did say as much, didn't I?"

Dean wiped at his eyes in frustration, the taste of bile rising at the back of his throat. "And he'll be fine? He won't - they'll stop hurting him?"

"Like I said, he'll never be hurt by anyone again. Guaranteed," the demon replied, her hand still resting over Dean's chest, and Dean tried to steady his breathing, knowing that an ill-timed panic attack would only make everything worse.

"So what do you say? Do we have a deal?"

There was a pause as the icy wind tore through the air, the demon continuing to look perfectly at ease with the cold weather around them, not even the appearance of goose pimples on her flesh to identify any affect of the chill on her body.

But Dean knew it was pointless to seek out a distraction right now. He had an answer and the sooner he voiced it, the sooner he could get back home.

"Yes."

 


	22. Why Do I Still Pray?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so I know this is a super short chapter, but I felt like I had to publish /something/ after leaving this abandoned for so long  
> I was actually hoping to have finished writing this fic by now, but life keeps getting in the way and screwing with my schedule  
> *sigh*  
> anyway, at this rate I've got at least five full length chapters left to go (and by 'full length', I mean about 11000 words instead of a measly 6000 or there abouts. I really am sorry about the inconsistency of the chapter lengths)
> 
> thanks again for being so patient (and for commenting and leaving kudos. it really means a lot)

 

 

I swear to God I did what I could.  
I practically begged you, I pretended everything was fine.  
A soul sacrifice, an American nightmare.  
I'd rather be dead.

_Pierce The Veil_

Castiel hugged the pillow close to his chest, breathing in Dean’s soft scent as he willed himself to try and fall asleep. He didn’t have anything else to give him the same sense of comfort, having already pulled on the bed shirt Dean had worn the night before, trying to compensate for the man’s absence. He didn’t like sleeping alone, so used to falling asleep with an arm thrown over Dean’s chest or _some_ kind of physical contact to remind him that the man was close.

A pillow was nothing like the firm muscle of Dean’s torso. It couldn’t hug him back or touch at his hair; it couldn’t whisper reassurances against his forehead or kiss his cheek. It collapsed beneath his hold, and if it weren’t for the subtle smell of Dean’s aftershave lingering on the case, Castiel would have burst into tears long ago.

He nuzzled the fabric, clamping it in his arms to keep it as close as possible, his legs tightening around the one between his thighs as he mimicked how he would usually lay with Dean, hating the replacement almost as much as he missed the man himself.

He looked to the bedside clock over his shoulder, scowling. He’d found it far easier to move his limbs for the past few minutes, no longer straining his muscles to do something as simple as sit up or reach for the glass of water left for him on the dresser. It didn’t hurt as much either, and Castiel was beginning to feel a lot better than he had earlier on in the day, but time was passing so very quickly and Castiel knew it was wiser to get as much sleep as possible as opposed to little to none, wanting to recover as fast as possible.

And if he slept soundly enough, he could wake early and go down during the night to aid Dean with his nightmares, regardless of whether the man wanted him to or not. He was so very worried for how Dean was currently faring, having heard Dean make a minor complaint to Sam about how he felt like he was coming down with something prior to Castiel’s headaches, not that he’d allowed Castiel to help relieve him of the illness should he have it.

It was incidents like that - in addition to the shying away and wanting to be alone - that gave the impression that Dean was pushing him away. He’d seen the man do it to so many others in the past and it terrified him to think that Dean wanted to do so in spite of everything they’d promised one another. Castiel knew it wasn’t Dean’s fault for feeling so disconnected as of late, but he’d been trying so hard to make sure that Dean was free from suffering. Nothing had been so complicated before the nightmares, and at least Dean had _talked_ to him more. Their conversations these days were dwindling in frequency owing to Dean’s inability to stay concentrated for long periods of time, so the only times they ever seemed to engage in _real_ conversation was around about midday or when Sam was present; every other moment was met with silence, Dean sitting beside him, stupidly thinking about all the problems they were facing until Castiel took it upon himself to distract the man with kisses and touches.

It was so hypocritical of him to pursue the more physical aspects of distraction, but the affects of talking had apparently worn off, encouraging Dean to fret as to whether or not Castiel would actually be fine.

It was stupid. Dean shouldn’t have been focusing on such dark thoughts when they both knew the problems would be resolved eventually. Gabriel would be in touch soon and then Dean could relax and concentrate on far more important happenings.

Castiel closed his eyes once more, burying his face in the pillow as he tried yet again to let his thoughts fall to nothing. He _wanted_ to sleep, and as difficult as he found it without Dean’s company, he knew that it wouldn’t be long until he saw the man anyway.

He’d barely begun to drift off when he heard the front door close downstairs and he looked to the clock once more in confusion, blinking blearily at the digital display. It had barely turned ten o’clock and Dean shouldn’t have been home so early. The man had only been saying before that he didn’t want to miss any work if it could be helped, and Castiel felt unbelievably apologetic for being incapable of going with him. He’d been given a job out of kindness and he couldn’t even show up to show his gratitude for it.

It was embarrassing, and Castiel hated to think of the consequences if Dean had been signed off for being unable to stay awake.

Castiel sat up when the bedroom door was opened; smiling through the darkness when it was closed and Dean’s soul was still vaguely visible as the man walked forward. It still wasn’t as bright as it could have been, and now there was even more blue cutting through the pink body, but Castiel knew that Dean was relatively prone to getting upset these days and even the smallest thing could have a profound effect. That didn’t necessarily mean it _wasn’t_ something serious, but Castiel would have thought such a matter would have the orb shrouded in more blue than any other colour as opposed to less than a fifth.

“You’re back early,” he whispered, pushing the pillows to the side hopefully before rubbing at his eyes. His sight still wasn’t _perfect_ but he imagined it would be back to normal relatively soon.

“Yeah, well, Jo kicked me out,” Dean replied, his voice sounding low and strained, and Castiel knew now why the blue was present. “Thinks I’ve come down with the flu.”

Castiel pulled the comforter up to his chin shyly when Dean approached the bed, the man pulling off his shirt and letting it fall to the floor on his way. Castiel reached out a hand for him, hiding his smile behind the blanket when Dean guided the hand to rest over his soul, seating himself on the edge of the mattress as his other hand went to comb through Castiel’s hair.

“So how you feeling?” Dean asked softly. “You definitely look a little better.”

“I feel _a lot_ better now, Dean,” Castiel assured him, and it was fairly truthful, if not a little exaggerated. His head definitely didn’t hurt anymore and he could move again. Both aspects were good signs, and he was almost certain that he would be back to normal once he woke in the morning.

“You’re not just saying that to humour me?”

Castiel struggled up onto his knees, sliding onto Dean’s lap to kiss him hard on the mouth. The man’s lips were slightly tacky but Castiel ignored it, focusing instead on the way Dean’s fingers twisted in his hair.

“I genuinely feel fine,” he insisted, cupping Dean’s face in his palms when he pulled back a little, staring into the man’s eyes. He was surprised by just how watery they were, and if Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d assume that Dean was on the verge of tears.

“Good,” Dean mumbled quietly, linking his hands behind Castiel’s back, offering something of a support for Castiel to rest against. “I’m glad.”

Castiel stared at him a while longer, unable to hold his smile for as long as he would have liked.

“Is everything alright?” He questioned quietly, rubbing Dean’s cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. He didn’t like seeing Dean upset, and if there was something he could help with, whether that be through talking or just physical comfort, he would happily try to help – especially when he knew Dean was especially vulnerable right now.

“I just missed you, Cas,” Dean told him, his voice sounding somewhat hoarse, and Castiel could feel the ache start up in the centre of his chest, wanting nothing more than for Dean to acquire his regular soft tone, free of this upset and audible pain. “I was so fucking worried about you.”

Castiel kissed him gently, the man pushing back into it with a slight force, a certain desperation to his actions that Castiel wouldn’t mind succumbing to this time around. It felt like they hadn’t done anything intimate in such a long time, and although Dean still may want to return to the first floor to sleep, Castiel wanted to indulge himself as much as he could whilst he still had the chance.

He kept his actions tender so not to make Dean feel pressured into doing anything he didn’t want to do, ghosting their mouths together when Dean began to tremble, unsure of whether or not he should even continue. It was hurting him to see Dean so upset – especially when it was over something like the worry of Castiel’s health – and he knew that in truth, it was incredibly selfish of him to want to gain something out of this encounter when Dean was suffering.

He kissed the man one last time before winding his arms around Dean’s shoulders, pressing his face to the side of his partner’s neck. Dean clutched at the back of his shirt, his fingertips digging in through the material.

“I missed you too, Dean,” he mumbled against Dean’s skin, his own voice catching at the back of his throat and sounding awfully coarse. Castiel only hoped Dean wouldn’t view his response as a bad thing based on how it had been spoken, his face flushing at the thought of making things worse.

But if Dean saw fault in it he didn't voice such an opinion, loosening his hold somewhat before gripping Castiel's waist and encouraging him to lay back against the mattress. Castiel looked away in disappointment, pulling the comforter back over his thighs to make up for the lack of warmth Dean's form had supplied him with.

He welcomed the touch of Dean's hand to his cheek, pressing back into it for the few moments it lasted.

"Dean," he whispered, glancing to the man in confidence when Dean went to move away. "Please don't sleep downstairs."

Dean still had that same watery appearance to his eyes and his smile was barely there. Castiel didn't even know if he _was_ smiling, but regardless of that fact, Dean's expression was something that made him feel more uncomfortable than anything else, a sort of vacancy to his features that had Castiel wondering if the man was even listening to him.

"Okay," Dean replied, kissing Castiel's forehead slowly. "Okay."

Castiel couldn't help breaking out into a grin, shuffling over to his side of the bed to give Dean room as the man pushed off his jeans. He pulled Dean closer as soon as he could, pressing his face to the man's solar plexus and nuzzling the small pink light. It still felt a little different, but Castiel hadn't been able to fully enjoy how it felt for the past two days, all of his senses weak and faulty. At this rate, everything would probably be regular come morning, even if it was a rather optimistic view of the events. He shouldn't have been allowing himself to be so hopeful when in reality he could be struck with a headache at any given time, but he wanted to have at least _one_ moment where things felt relatively normal.

"I love you, Dean," he told the man as the bizarre sensations seeped into him, hot and cold and inconsistent in their flow, but Castiel still cherished every minute, slumping against Dean's chest when the man lay down.

It was strange how simply he fell asleep in such an instance, barely recalling the 'love you too' he received in return. His sleep was dreamless; empty space and dull words echoing in his mind, but of course, it didn't seem to last very long.

He jolted awake abruptly at the slap to his face, his skin stinging from the force as Dean's body continued to writhe beside him. He went about the incident as he always did, ignoring the pain and the tears in his vision as he pinned the man's arms to the bed, desperate to keep Dean from hurting himself.

"Dean," he croaked, straddling the man's hips to keep him still. "Dean, wake up."

He jostled Dean as gently as he could, not wanting the waking to be too abrupt. The last time he'd woken Dean up by inadvertently being too rough, Dean had appeared more disturbed upon the waking than he had during the nightmare itself, and Castiel longed to avoid that as much as possible. Even seating himself atop the man was something of an extremity, but ensuring that Dean was free of harm was essential.

Castiel tried to ignore the broken chant of his name passing the man's lips, closing his eyes tight as he repeated his words once more, urging Dean to hear him. 

"Dean,  _please_ ," Castiel begged, shaking him again as he bowed down a little, trembling as he pressed their foreheads together. "You need to wake up now."

It generally didn't take much to rouse the man. It was the experience itself that Castiel had an issue with, hating how he needed to constrain Dean in order to prevent either of them from being hurt. There'd been a few occasions where Dean had accidentally hurt himself during his sleep, consequently waking himself up before Castiel had the chance to do so himself, and Castiel didn't want to see that happen again. He didn't care if the man hit  _him,_ mainly because he knew it couldn't be helped and that Dean would never intend to hurt him should he be awake, but Dean became even more frightened when he woke to pain.

“C-Cas?” The man garbled, and Castiel nodded, carefully shuffling back as he let go of Dean’s wrists, his throat tight and the worry crushing his lungs. He stroked his hands over the man’s pectorals, Dean’s haggard breaths remaining the only sound in the room.

“I’m here,” Castiel assured him, clambering off Dean’s abdomen to position himself on the left, reaching down to card his fingers through Dean’s matted hair. “I’m here,” he repeated again, his voice catching in the back of his throat.

Dean covered his face with his hands and Castiel watched the sharp rise and fall of his chest with each rushed breath, grabbing the edge of the comforter with his free hand to drag it over Dean’s bare form.  He went on to wipe the tears from his own eyes before settling back down against the mattress, attempting to prise the hands from Dean’s face and calm him down properly.

He brushed the tears from Dean’s cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, attempting to smile when Dean met his eyes through the darkness.

"I'm sorry," Dean rasped, fright all over his features. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright," he insisted, reaching down with one hand to grab the edge of the comforter, using that instead to wipe away the remaining tears, trying to hold his smile. "You're okay now."

Castiel knew not to ask about the dreams. Dean talked about such things when he felt comfortable, and although Castiel didn’t like being left uninformed about such matters, he knew that it would be cruel of him to ask about something that could only cause Dean’s stress to worsen.

And it wasn’t like he was clueless as to what these night terrors were about. Dean had illustrated them quite vividly for him the first few times they’d ever occurred, and Castiel knew from the consistency in Dean’s behaviour and speech throughout his nightmares that the dreams were rarely different. They may be getting easier to cope with, like Dean had said a few days ago, but they were still the same.

Tolerance wasn’t a cure.

 

*

 

Dean knew that accepting the deal had been risky. He knew that part of his decision making had been down to the fact that he'd been scared shitless, not wanting to be murdered out of spite, but really, he probably should have been more scared of Castiel than he was a demon.

It wasn't that Dean had thought Castiel stupid or anything like that, because to be totally honest, Castiel was bound to pick up on it at some point, no matter how much Dean had thought it could have been kept a secret. And obviously Dean would have had to say _something_ at some point, having been told which three angelic bastards were behind Castiel's torment, and Cas wasn't exactly going to believe him when he'd have no explanation for knowing as such otherwise.

Admittedly he hadn't really thought too much about how Castiel would react to it, knowing that the guy'd probably be pissed to hear that Dean had thrown his life away.

Well, 'pissed' was an understatement. Castiel had given up everything for him to live happily, and yes, Dean had only started to consider that  _after_  that creepy bitch had kissed him, claiming that it was all part of the shitty agreement in the first place, but he'd also thought that he'd been making the best decision by standing by the deal. He wasn't simply gonna sit by and watch Cas  _die_ \- especially if Gabriel didn't show up for the weeks to follow, and yeah, it might be selfish to want Cas back to normal by the time Dean's birthday rolled around, but it made him feel utterly  _sick_ to think that Cas could have died the very same day if Dean hadn't done anything at _all!_

Dean hadn't been home for most of the morning. He'd kissed Cas goodbye like he always did before he went anywhere without the angel, and Cas hadn't said anything about his soul at the time, smiling up at him from the bed before Dean had left to go to work.

He got back at around eleven, having hoped that Ellen hadn't phoned Bobby ahead of Dean showing up, and Dean spent a good two hours trying to reason with the older man, trying his best to prove he wasn't fucking ill. 

But of course, that just resulted in Dean being signed off for two fucking weeks like he'd been hospitalized or something, and to make matters worse, Bobby went on ahead to phone Ellen back too, so now Dean was banned from working at both his jobs until he'd been to see a fucking doctor.

So yeah. He'd been extremely pissed off by the time he got home.

Cas picked up on that pretty much as soon as Dean walked through the front door, taking his hand and leading him through to the kitchen whilst Sam had picked out a movie for them to watch. He hadn't questioned Dean's mood, talking to him lightly about the homework he'd helped Sam with earlier as he'd made Dean a cup of coffee, and Dean had smiled, grateful that Cas was blatantly back to normal.

It was around three o'clock when he noticed Cas staring at him. Well, staring more than normal. He'd asked if Cas was okay, kinda uncomfortable under the angel's scrutinizing gaze, and Cas had simply blinked up at him, smiling a little before claiming he was alright.

Dean'd been asked the exact same thing just an hour later, the angel looking more than just a little confused. Dean had brushed it off at the time, giving Cas a simple 'I'm fine' before pulling the guy closer to him on the couch, letting Sam pick out the second film because he didn't really give a shit what they watched. At the time he'd kinda doubted his ability to stay awake throughout the whole movie, but then again, it'd been a while since he'd seen Aladdin. Sure, it was yet another of Sam's crappy Disney films, but if Dean had to pick out one he liked above the rest, this'd probably be it.

Didn't stop him and Cas from making out midway through the movie though.

He could slowly feel Cas become more relaxed in his hold, the angel's hand sliding beneath the front of his shirt after a while, almost like the guy was trying to be subtle about it, and Dean had grinned, feeling the cool press of the ring as Castiel's fingers dragged over his abdomen.

Ten years. He had ten years to enjoy every last moment and like hell was he going to throw all that away. He'd take every chance he got - savour every second in the company of those he loved.

It was that kind of thought that made him consider phoning Bobby up later to apologise for being such a dick. They'd rescheduled dinner for when Dean was 'well again', and yes, it was kinda irritating to know that Dean'd have to go to a fucking doctor to get a note and shit, but if Gabriel turned up before then, maybe he could magic up something instead to make up for his ridiculously long absence.

Bobby wasn't really as fussed about the whole illness aspect as Jo and Ellen had been, but the old man was only doing what he thought was best and Dean should have respected that in the first place. It had just been a little aggravating to have Cas accused of forcing Dean to go to work regardless when, if anything, Castiel had encouraged him to stay home.

"Dean," Castiel whispered against his lips, and Dean hummed in response, opening his eyes as he pushed Castiel's bangs back from his forehead with his fingertips, dragging his touch down the side of the angel's face when he was satisfied.

"You are feeling alright, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Dean grinned, ignoring Sam's nudge to his thigh, not wanting to look away from Castiel just yet. "I really am."

"So you no longer feel ill?"

Dean kissed Castiel firmly on the mouth. "Shut up, asshole," he chuckled, pleasantly surprised when Castiel's tongue flicked at his upper lip. "You know full well that I was never fucking ill."

"Uh-huh," Cas hummed, and Dean pulled Cas onto his lap, laughing as the angel rucked his shirt up higher.

" _Seriously_ , guys! Do you have to do that _here_?" Sam blurted, and Dean nuzzled his face into Castiel’s neck, thriving off the light vibrations of Castiel’s own laughter. He wound his arms around the angel’s waist, attempting to hide the view of Castiel’s hands as he brushed his lips over Castiel’s pulse point.

“We’re not doing anything,” he protested coyly, biting his lip because Cas clearly _wanted_ to do something.

The settee cushions shifted abruptly and Dean didn’t even have to look up to know that was cue for Sam evacuating the room. He knew it was kinda unfair on the kid, but he and Cas hadn’t done this sort of thing in _weeks_. Sure they touched and kissed and all that mushy stuff, but it had been way too long since Cas had last been this … attentive.

He knew Cas had sorta been keeping his distance because of how fucked up Dean’s sleeping pattern was, and yeah, maybe Dean _was_ lacking a little in energy, but he sure as hell didn’t mind catering to Castiel’s each and every sexual desire – especially when Castiel was _this_ horny.

He just didn’t really know how to put that down in words. _Appropriate_ words. Words that didn’t make him sound ridiculously pervy and desperate.

“We should probably go upstairs,” Dean suggested, tipping his head back when Castiel dipped down to bite at the side of his neck, his heartbeat kicking up a notch with the sharp kiss that followed. “Or … or not.”

Castiel raised Dean’s shirt above his ribs, hands sliding down over Dean’s stomach again before they were roaming toward his soul, and Dean sucked in a haggard breath as Castiel’s tongue replaced teeth on his flesh, soothing his skin.

But then the angel was jolting backwards with a sharp cry, his head narrowly missing the edge of the coffee table as he fell to the ground, and Dean cursed in alarm, hastily pulling his shirt back down as he went to help Castiel up from the floor. He crouched, supporting Cas by the biceps as he ran his eyes over the angel’s startled features.

“Cas, you okay?!” He checked desperately, uncomfortable with the gaze Castiel met his line of sight with.

The angel was quiet for a moment, his gaze analytical and quick, running up and down Dean's body numerous times as if to pick out even the tiniest of faults.

“What did you do?” Castiel asked quietly, cradling his left hand to his chest, and Dean blanched at the realisation of what had just happened, taking in the pain when he scored Castiel’s expression again. There was blatant worry in Castiel’s eyes, along with a batch of tears – which was fucking _rare_ these days now that Castiel had pretty much mastered the art of emotion – and that only made Dean more panicked because it was far rarer for Cas to cry from pain than the cause being a situation.

So either Dean’s soul had projected enough energy to hurt the guy, or Cas knew what Dean had done.

And Dean knew neither option would go down well in terms of conversation.

He couldn’t even pluck up the courage to formulate an answer, staring down at Castiel’s injured hand – at the slight red tinge to the skin – so he didn’t have to meet Castiel’s gaze any longer.

But it wasn’t just that that made him want to look at the effect because this had _never_ happened before. Castiel derived _pleasure_ from his soul – he never got fucking _burnt_ by it!

“It’s because you’re not feeling well, isn’t it?” Castiel asked quickly – _hopefully_ – grabbing the front of Dean’s shirt with his uninjured hand to pull him down into a seated position, trapping him in a sense, and Dean could feel his throat constrict, daring a glance up to meet Castiel’s stare again. The feeling only worsened at the sight of Castiel crying, the angel not even trying to mask his upset.

And then there was the pure _faith_ in Castiel’s gaze – what seemed to be a point-blank refusal to accept whatever it was he’d both felt and could see – that had Dean feeling like he was going to be sick.

He couldn’t lie about this. He didn’t _want_ to lie about it. Cas deserved the utmost truth, and sure, the guy would be angry, but if Dean didn't say anything then Gabriel sure as hell _would_ (if the guy had still attempted to watch over them whilst he went about his completely useless hunt for Alastair, that is, but Dean couldn't risk it. Cas would only be angrier if it was kept a secret for a longer period of time).

“No, Cas. It’s not,” Dean confessed bitterly, letting his hands fall from Castiel’s arms in embarrassment. He couldn’t even look at the guy anymore, knowing that he should have said something as soon as he’d gone through with the deal to avoid getting the angel hurt, not that he’d _known_ it’d happen.

“You’re lying,” Castiel stated sternly, but his voice cracked and Dean knew immediately that it was the degree of crying that he hadn’t seen Cas experience since his wings had broken free; the kind that, any second now, would be enriched with sobbing and floods of tears, and Dean _did not_ want to see Cas that broken. He _hated_ seeing the angel cry, and if it was because of his fault, then it was even fucking worse. “Don’t lie to me, Dean. Please don’t lie.”

It was the _please_ that made his gut clench and his chest ache because Castiel was practically begging him for another answer; any other answer. An answer Dean couldn’t give.

“I’m not lying, Cas,” he croaked, feeling his own eyes begin to well up with tears.

He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to talk about it and he wished this moment hadn’t fucking happened. He didn’t know what the hell was so wrong with his soul that Cas had been able to detect a change before even touching it, but he wanted it to return to normal so he wouldn't ever risk hurting Castiel with its intensity again!

“I-I don’t understand!” The angel cried, cupping his face, almost as if attempting to make Dean look at him. Dean kept his eyes averted though, cringing when the first tear ran down his own cheek. “You said I made you happy, Dean! I thought I made you _happy_!”

“You _do,_ Cas,” Dean insisted, pathetic as it was. His voice was hoarse and cracking with the strain of withholding his upset, but it hurt like a fucking bitch to hear the disbelief in Castiel’s tone. _Of course_ Castiel made him happy! Dean wouldn’t have accepted the deal if he didn’t want to save what they had. There was no doubt in his mind that he and Castiel could live happily for a further ten years now that their problems had been sorted out, and in actual fact, ten years wasn’t bad. Ten years was actually a hell of a long time. They could still accomplish most of what they had planned.

“Then _why_?!” Castiel shouted, his Grace slowly turning grey in colour. “Why would you … I told you _not_ to! _Nothing_ is worth selling your soul for!”

“She made you better, Cas,” Dean mentioned softly, closing his eyes when the grey abruptly turned black, really fucking uncomfortable knowing that he’d never seen Cas’ Grace turn _that_ dark in colour before. He’d seen it a stormy grey when they’d argued, but never black.

Cas had never been pissed off enough for the light to effectively _die_.

He could feel the angel tense up, the hands on his face almost clenching his jaw tight between them, and although Cas had vowed never to hurt him before, Dean was beginning to think that Castiel was about to make an exception.

“You _idiot_!” Castiel snarled, his fingers digging in briefly before he was tearing both hands away, almost in a form of restraint. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?!”

Dean cracked his eyes open, keeping his gaze trained on the floor. “I –”

“I’m not worth your _soul_ , Dean! Gabriel was going to _fix me_!” Castiel exploded, and Dean was really fucking glad Cas had put some distance between them when he received the sharp ache in his ear, wincing as the high pitched undertone continued on long after. It was a piercing noise, making him feel nauseous and weak the longer it rung in his thoughts.

But Castiel’s words had an anger rising in Dean’s chest, because if Gabriel had shown up in the first place, Dean wouldn’t have resorted to selling his soul to ensure Cas’ safety. They wouldn't have been in a constant state of panic, and most importantly, Castiel wouldn't have had to suffer through any more headaches.

“And where’s he been the past two weeks, huh?” Dean addressed with a grimace, daring to meet Castiel’s stare directly. Castiel was practically _bleeding_ anger, the atmosphere around them tense and confining. “Where the fuck was he on Wednesday?!”

“I am _not_ the most important creature in the universe,” Castiel hissed, not doing anything to brush away the tears that dripped from his jaw onto the floorboards. “He has _other_ priorities – more _important_ priorities.”

“But you’re important to _me_!” Dean yelled. “And I’m not gonna sit back and watch you _die_ when I can do something to fucking prevent it!”

“I’m not _going_ to die, Dean!”

“Not now that I made a deal!” Dean argued, his confidence plummeting when Castiel’s expression turned borderline fucking _livid_! “Two weeks, she told me,” Dean added with less vigour. “You really think I’d just walk away when she was offering up your good health?”

“Demons _lie_!” Castiel stated sharply, the hue of his Grace making the rest of his skin look a sickly shade of yellow. “They’d tell you anything if it meant you’d _accept_!”

“You’re better though, aren’t you?” Dean pointed out cockily when the angel abruptly climbed to his feet. “You’ve been better since last night so don’t fucking try and tell me they’re liars when this one blatantly fixed you up better than Gabriel ever could.”

“Because you’re far more knowledgeable on the topic, aren’t you, Dean?” Castiel spat, throwing him something of a dirty look over his shoulder as he strode briskly to the doorway, wiping at his face with both hands, apparently over his previous injury completely; but Dean stood up to follow after him, more than a little taken aback by how the angel was behaving.

“I did this for _you_ , Cas!” He shouted, scowling when Castiel didn’t even slow down. “Why can’t you just be fucking grateful?!”

 _That_ got Castiel’s attention, but Dean wasn’t expecting Cas to turn on him, the air crushed out of his lungs when Cas slammed him up against the thin panel of the doorframe.

“Grateful?!” Castiel exclaimed, and in any other instance, Dean would have gone far as to call his tone ludicrous. “You’re asking me to be grateful for something you did out of pure _selfishness!”_

Dean went to argue but Cas wasn’t finished, enforcing this fact with another hard shove to the chest, the metal catch of the doorframe digging into Dean’s lower back.

“Not once have I asked you to be grateful for the sacrifices I’ve made to be here! You never hear me bragging about everything  _I_ suffered through before I arrived on earth; so _no_! I will _not_ be ‘fucking grateful’ for this stupid decision you’ve made! I was _tortured_ for wanting to visit you – I was sent to _Hell_ – but I didn’t endure all of that so you could go on to be sent to the exact same _fucking_ place!”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat when Castiel tore away again, the angel snatching his coat from the rack and his shoes from beside the skirting board, storming outside and slamming the front door behind him.

And all Dean could do was sink to the floor with his head in his hands, gasping hard as the onslaught of grief manipulated his mind and he was feeling empty and alone as he broke down completely, abandoned in the silent corridor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to the few anons on tumblr that asked about the art, I doubt I'll get around to drawing anything else soon. I don't want to get even further behind on my writing because I'm distracted with that, so I don't know. Maybe once the fic's finished I'll draw something for each chapter


	23. The Heart Is Heaven But The Mind Is Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd be genuinely surprised if any of you guys were still reading this. i figured i disappoint on both the story content and my tendency to lose interest in what i'm actually writing
> 
> i'm sorry. i'm trying to do better

God all mighty for righteousness sake  
Humiliation of our fallen state  
Written in the book of tubold Cain  
A long black over coat will show no stain  
Feel the heat and the burn on your back  
The rip and the moan and the stretch of the rack  
All my belongings in a flour sack  
Will the place I come from  
Take me back

_Tom Waits_

 

 

 

“What did you do?!”

Dean kept his face hidden in his palms, unable to keep from crying even as Sam thudded down the stairs to approach him, wanting nothing more than to be left in silence without his eavesdropping little shit of a brother shouting at him too.

He’d already been told he’d fucked up once – he’d already had Cas walk out on him because of his fucking ignorance and stupidity and just everything he was in general – and he didn’t need _any_ of those ideals enforced by Sam when Dean already _knew_ he’d made Castiel more upset than he'd ever seen the guy before!

Fuck - Cas _never_ swore! Castiel was the one person Dean actually hung around that _didn't_.

Even Sam cursed every so often _and_ _he was four_ _hundred years_ _fuc_ _king_ ** _younger!_**

So yes. Dean knew he'd fucked up _big-time_.

“Dean! What the hell did you do?!”

He cringed at the choice of Sam's vocabulary, because Jesus fucking _Christ:_ Cas had been to _Hell!_ He'd been to a place that, in spite of everything Dean had been taught about since meeting the angel, he'd never thought actually existed.

And yes, that was utterly stupid of him seeing as Cas had mentioned it briefly in the past, but it had never been important! Cas was important! Cas and the the things that had gone on in Heaven!

Not _once_ did he mention Hell when it came to his experience!

" _Dean_!"

But the knowledge that such a place existed didn't even begin to compare with just how painful it was to know that Dean was the reason Cas had been sent there in the first place!

"Dean, _tell me_!"

And he'd been _tortured_?! Not only had Castiel been bullied and abused for simply being himself, but he'd also been fucking tortured over the whole guardian thing purely because he cared about Dean.

It was fucking disgusting and heartbreaking and it made Dean feel even fucking worse because he'd just made a decision that would result in him going through the same thing, in spite of all the hard work and all the shit Castiel had had to put up with for him.

But it hurt more knowing that this was the only sure fire way he could protect Cas - that even though it meant him going to Hell, at least Cas wouldn't have to go through that kind of pain and torment all over again.

And yet there was still that reminder that Cas hadn't wanted this - that the angel had worked his fucking ass off and given up  _everything_ for Dean to live happily until ... whenever, and Dean had shortened his own life. He'd cut short his potential future and family with the fucking  _love of his life_ because he'd been panicked and scared and too damn stupid to remember just how precious his life was in Castiel's eyes. Yes, it still hurt to think that Castiel didn't seem to value his life as much as he did Dean's, but Dean hadn't considered just how angry Cas would have been about the whole thing.

He just wanted Cas to be okay.

Maybe it was selfish for him to want Cas to live longer, but wasn't it also selfish of him to keep his soul intact purely because he was a little scared of dying? Cas  _deserved_ freedom - from everything bad - and Dean would help in any way he could to ensure that Castiel's human life was as best as it could be!

He flinched when Sam's hand clamped down on his shoulder, drawing his knees in closer to his chest.

" _Dean_!"

Dean grimaced, trying to push the boy away.

"What was all that about?!"

"Leave me alone, Sam."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why you guys had a fight!" Sam cried, trying to turn Dean toward him. "I've never heard him shout at you before, Dean - he  _never_ shouts!"

Cas  _had_ shouted before. Maybe not as loudly or with the same unadulterated anger, but then again, Castiel had never been that angry either. Their arguments in the past had been nothing in comparison - especially when Dean took into consideration just how petty their fights had been in the first place. The majority had been down to Dean saying something invasive and unnecessary, but they'd always been able to talk it out afterwards. There'd been an easy way to apologise for mistakes.

Even now - after  _everything_ Cas had said - Dean wasn't even sure if what he'd done was make a mistake. Regardless of whether it was or not, part of him would still prefer ten years of Castiel's company than none at all.

"We had a disagreement," Dean gritted out, shrugging off Sam's hand.

"About  _what_?" Sam persisted. "What did he mean when he said he'd been sent to Hell?"

Dean looked up sharply, his breath catching in his throat. "It's none of your fucking  _business_!"

"He's gonna be  _family_ , Dean! He shouted at you and he made you cry, so actually, I think it _is_  my business!" Sam shot back in response, shoving at him. "You think I can't hear you guys talking all the time, with your stupid whispering and all the euphemisms?" There was a brief pause before Sam shoved him again, harder this time. "I swear to God - if I find out this is all because you've started using again, or something equally as fucked up as that, then you're the one who can fucking move out! Not him!"

"What the fuck are you on about?!" Dean exploded, pushing him back forcefully. "You honestly think I'd ruin  _everything_ by doing something as stupid as that?!"

"You act like it hasn't happened before!"

Dean got to his feet, resisting the urge to kick Sam in the shin from his vantage point.

"Fuck you, Sam!" He spat, hurriedly grabbing his jacket from the rack so he could try and catch up with the angel before Cas strayed too far. He knew that Cas wasn't really one for leaving the grounds, but he needed to talk to the guy. It'd be better to get things out of the way somewhere where Sam wouldn't be able to listen in - especially when the kid had already heard more than he should have.

"What am I meant to think?" Sam retorted. "You've been acting different for the past few weeks - Cas says you're not sleeping anywhere _near_ as much as you used to, and you hardly even talk to me anymore! I-I mean, I know that you and Cas like your privacy and all, but do you realise how uncomfortable it makes me feel when your conversations end the second I step in the room? If it's not drugs, have  _I_ done something to make you this damn closed off?!"

"No, Sam! It's fucking - look, I don't have to explain myself to you!" Dean yelled, swinging open the front door. "Just go do your homework or something!"

"Where are you going?!"

"To find Castiel!" Dean snapped, looping his jacket over his arm as he stomped out onto the porch. His stomach was clenching and he felt like shit for taking his anger out on Sam but Cas' words were ringing in his thoughts again and he desperately needed to know what the guy had meant when he said Dean was going to be sent to Hell. The demon hadn't mentioned that. In actual fact, she hadn't specified anything beyond her collecting his soul, but if Cas knew all about what it was Dean had gotten himself into, then Cas would also know if there were alternate options.

There _had_ to be alternatives! There always were!

He didn't bother arguing as Sam followed him out of the house, but he didn't stick around to wait for the boy to pull on his shoes and catch up. He wanted the privacy with Cas for this conversation - hell, they _needed_ privacy for this - but if Sam was concerned about Castiel's whereabouts, then Dean wouldn't demand him to stay behind.

"You keep your mouth shut, you hear me?" Dean called over his shoulder, zipping up his jacket before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You say anything like what you did to me in the corridor to Cas and you can deal with his pissy fucking attitude by yourself!"

"I'm not the one who pissed him off in the first place! Don't use that as an excuse to get me to clean up your mess for you!"

Dean set a fast pace, trudging through the snow and following the distinct trail of footsteps that had led from the porch to the sidewalk, able to guess where Cas was headed without much more than the initial direction. It wasn't like the angel had been to many places around here anyway, seeing as Dean was a shit boyfriend and never thought to take Cas out anywhere, but he'd definitely try harder once they'd talked this out and things were right again.

Cas deserved _more._ He deserved _better,_ and Dean felt like shit for essentially doing nothing but feeding his own needs when he'd barely helped Cas experience other aspects of humanity. Yeah, he might have taken Cas out on a ... on a date, but he'd hardly done anything else to make Cas feel as special as he probably should, and he didn't even care if that sounded cheesy and cliche because it was _true!_

And now he'd made a deal, and pissed the guy off, and all he'd wanted was Cas' happiness. Because that's what Cas deserved.

Even if Dean wasn't there to share it with him.

 

 *

 

Castiel took a timid step backwards, ducking slightly so his head wouldn’t knock against the underside of the bleachers as he wiped at his eyes and dropped the small rusted blade to the frosted soil. From here the blood was barely visible painted on the brick of the wall, but there didn’t seem to be any mistakes in the general creation. The shape was a little skewed and patchy, but it would work.

It  _should_  work.

He pulled the sleeves of his trenchcoat down, wincing at the drag of cotton over the cut on his forearm, chanting out the Enochian spell slowly so his crying didn’t affect the pronunciation of the words too much.

And then there was silence.

Castiel sat down carefully, tucking the tail of his coat beneath him to keep him slightly more protected from the ice. He didn’t know how long he’d have to wait for, but this was the only sure way he could get in contact with Gabriel. This was the only thing he  _could_  do.

So he emptied his thoughts, staring blankly as he waited for some form of response. In spite of the cold air his face was warm, the tears hot as they continued to roll down his cheeks, but Castiel focused determinedly on the wall ahead, not allowing the reminder of earlier happenings to breach his thoughts. He needed to keep his anger in control, and thinking about anything relatively bitter had his lungs crushing tight and his eyes burning with more than the cold of the sharp winter breeze.

He outlined the sigil on the wall opposite with his eyes, ensuring once more that he hadn't drawn anything wrong. It only made him more frustrated to think that he even had to _resort_ to this. It was true that Gabriel didn't have to show as per usual if he was busy, or even if he didn't want to, but he could have at least  _warned_ Castiel beforehand. Castiel wouldn't have hung around on earth long enough for so many problems to arise, and things could have been  _fine_.

 _Dean_  could have been fine!

But it was so very nasty of him to want to blame Gabriel for something of this nature. The archangel couldn't have foretold these events and he most certainly wasn't the reason as to why Dean had made such stupid choices.

And that in turn wasn't fair: deeming Dean's decisions stupid. Castiel knew how demons could be when they were aware of the power they held, and given the most recent events, Dean hadn't been in the same mindset he usually was.

That didn't excuse his actions though. Castiel had warned him not to make a deal - he'd told the man that demons were manipulative and unsympathetic, and with the right words, they could make _anyone_ desire something they'd not once considered before.

 _This_ choice, however, was ridiculous. Castiel knew that Dean loved him and that they both wanted a life free of fear, but making a deal with a demon was  _not_ the way to go about it. There were other ways - safer ways - that they could have looked into instead, but now those possibilities were lost and Castiel had been left feeling terrified of what it meant for them.

He'd known that things were perhaps a little serious when it came to his health, and without Gabriel there to help him through it he'd felt abandoned and confused, even if the archangel had gone to relieve Castiel of his pain. He'd never thought that Dean would ever actually consider making a deal though - not after everything they'd talked about! 

Making a deal was essentially postponed suicide and Dean didn't deserve to have his life cut short for something so unnecessary! Not only that, but it seemed Dean had accepted the deal with little to no knowledge regarding what selling his soul actually entailed. The man would never go to Heaven, he'd never see Sam again, and he'd endure an eternity of suffering.

All because he'd ignored what Castiel had told him in the past.

Castiel got to his feet when the sigil on the wall began to glow, a certain weakness manipulating his legs and making it far more difficult for him to stand upright without supporting himself against the underside of the bleachers. He knew it wasn't compulsory for him to stand, but he wanted to get things over as soon as possible. He needed to be ready.

But he was more than slightly irked when nothing followed, his patience wearing thin the longer he stood waiting for a reaction.

It was  _glowing_! Surely that meant _someone_ had responded to the call?

He started to pace, keeping his eyes trained on the mark as he moved back and forth beneath the stand, his footsteps crunching on the frosted turf. It didn't take long before he heard the distinct sound of someone else's footsteps, and he froze, knowing full well that the more he moved, the easier it would be for whomever it was to see him stood beneath the bleachers; so he cast a look over his shoulder, through the gaps in the seats to look toward the entrance of the stadium.

Castiel wasn't even surprised to find that Dean had followed him, but it only added to his irritation, given that Dean would try to stop him from doing everything he'd had in mind to fix this.

What did surprise him however, was Sam's presence, and he stepped out from beneath the bleachers quickly to prevent either Winchester from seeing the angelic sigil pulsating on the wall, knowing that he could stall until Gabriel actually arrived. Dean wouldn't be able to do anything at that point, and for once, Castiel didn't care how it would make the man feel. After all, Dean had made a narrow minded decision without considering Castiel's wants. It was only fair if Castiel was enabled to do the same without consulting Dean first - more so when it would actually be of  _help_.

But then he noted the deep shade of red, barely concealed by the dark layer of demonic ownership in Dean's chest, and his thoughts came to an abrupt halt, a low buzzing sounding in his skull.

He stopped walking even as Dean picked up his pace to approach him, keeping his eyes trained on the man's soul as he tried to overcome his annoyance because Dean was angry.  _Really_ angry.

Dean had _no_   _right_ to be angry with him!

Sam didn't follow Dean across the pitch, standing almost stoic beside the nearest wall of the opening, and Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn't grateful for it. This wasn't something the child should overhear, and although Castiel was still utterly infuriated, he believed he could manage to keep his voice low whilst getting his points across.

He didn't let Dean get too close though, taking a step back when Dean tried to exceed a respectable distance. He could see the hurt on the man's face, but Castiel didn't want to risk anything. With that much anger in Dean's soul, he didn't know what to expect, and owing to the fact that Castiel had been on the verge of lashing out before, he guessed that Dean was currently experiencing the same problem.

"Are you trying to make things difficult?" Dean asked, his voice surprisingly soft given the emotions flaring in the centre of his chest, and Castiel frowned, casting his eyes down to the ground.

"More difficult, you mean," Castiel muttered, curling his fingers within the sleeves of his coat, doing his best to ignore the shift of fabric over the open wound of his forearm. It didn't do anything for the cuts on his fingertips though, the slightest touch of blood seeping from the wounds created by handling the razor blade. "You did a fairly good job of making things difficult already."

He knew it was somewhat antagonistic of him to say as such, but he figured that if they were going to talk at all, he would be honest.

And he wouldn't allow himself to be blamed for what had happened. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" The man gritted out, taking a step closer, but Castiel maintained the same distance between them, more cautious now that Dean's tone was rather representative of his emotions.

"I warned you," Castiel reminded him, looking up to match Dean's stare. "I told you to never -"

"Not that, you idiot! Why didn't you tell me what happened to you?!" The man interrupted, and Castiel cast a quick glance over to where Sam was standing, knowing that the sound could easily travel across the planes to reach him if Dean continued to speak with the same unnecessary volume.

"Now is not the time to discuss that," he stated coldly, even if it wasn't exactly true. There would never be a time to discuss it. Castiel didn't  _want_ to discuss it, and if Dean hadn't aggravated him so very much earlier, then perhaps he would have been able to keep information like that private for the remainder of his human life. It had been cruel of him to bring up what he'd gone through to be with Dean - especially when Dean had felt so much guilt for something as small as being adventurous when he was younger, but, in a way, Castiel wanted Dean to feel guilty. The man had made a disastrous mistake by selling his soul and there seemed to be so many factors that Dean had not taken into consideration; like how Sam would fare when the only real family he had left would be taken from him in one of the most gruesome and traumatic ways possible.

Dean looked back in Sam's general direction immediately after Castiel did, before facing him again with a frown. "What, because Sam's here?" Dean hissed, but Castiel didn't answer, aware that Sam was currently looking over to them in return.

"He already heard you before, Cas! I wouldn't be surprised if the whole fucking _street_ heard you!"

Castiel glared at him, feeling the warmth creep up the back of his neck. 

And yet, in actual fact, the thought of people hearing him didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. That wasn't the concern right now, but if all Dean came here to talk about was Castiel's history, then Castiel wasn't going to waste his time talking to him when he could be reciting the spell for the sigil instead.

"You are a querulous and ignorant human being, Dean Winchester," he snarled, feeling confident enough to step into the space he'd been so intent on keeping between them, even if it put him at risk of potentially being hurt. "I came here to be  _alone_ , not so you could pursue and harass me with your cantankerous attitude. I don't desire your company right now, nor do I need it, so unless you followed me to apologise or enquire how I intend to get you out of this mess, then I suggest you take your brother and leave me be because I am not in the mood to answer questions that aren't at all relevant to the issue at hand, purely to feed your curiosity."

He turned away when Dean did little more than blink down at him with that stupid frown still in place, cursing the man with the few inappropriate phrases he knew in Encohian because  _everything_ about this was ridiculous. He didn't even care which option Dean chose so long as the man would leave him on good terms, but he should have known that an apology would be hard to come by. 

He couldn't help but cry out when Dean clamped down on his wrist though, yanking his arm free and stumbling against the side of the bleachers. He wasn't expecting Dean to support him from behind, holding him upright in a way that wasn't at all harmful, but he wriggled a little in the general discomfort of having Dean that close to him, rather panicked as to whether or not things could change.

"Are you hurt, Cas?! Is your arm okay?!" Dean blurted, and Castiel could feel tears well up in his eyes because  _he didn't want this._ He didn't want attention  _or_ affection. _  
_

He wanted isolation.

"Just go home, Dean!" He shouted, pushing at the man's chest when he was turned around.

"No, come on, Cas," Dean begged, taking hold of his wrist again. It hurt more this time, the material pressed against the cut in the skin, and he squeezed his eyes shut, biting down hard on his lower lip until his sleeve was being rolled up.

And then everything just seemed to stop.

He didn't want to physically harm Dean, so he didn't push any harder in fear of the man falling backwards, slowing his breaths as he tried to attain a calmer composure.

"Oh fuck ..." Dean breathed, and Castiel could hear the thick sound of him swallowing over that of the icy gale, a certain hollowness accompanying the sadness in those two words.

"Dean -"

"No, Cas," Dean croaked, his voice strangled yet gentle, but regardless, it hurt to hear. Castiel knew what Dean was seeing; how that without an explanation Dean would probably think it was a serious matter.

They'd both witnessed each others history regarding self harm - he still saw the white scars on Dean's flesh every time he kissed the inside of the man's thighs - but he hadn't hurt himself for ... for a relief, or anything like the things he'd done in the past. This was a necessity, and it was important, and if he didn't repeat the spell again soon, Gabriel may not respond at all.

"It's not what you think," Castiel insisted hurriedly, opening his eyes to meet Dean's eye, even if it allowed the tears to spill down his face. He doubted Dean would believe him in the state he was in, more so now that the tears had begun to fall. He wasn't crying because he'd hurt himself or because Dean had seen the wound. He was crying because he was too damn frustrated to do anything else!

"I know what it looks like, but it's not ... I'm ..."

He cast another look over at Sam before clutching at Dean's jacket with his free hand to pull him behind the bleachers, taking in a deep breath as he tried to keep his emotions under control.

"It's for a summoning spell, Dean," he informed the man quietly, wiping at his face. "When angels want to call another - usually ... usually as a last resort in battle, should they require assistance - they use blood to draw out a symbol, and -" He raised his hand, pointing at the symbol drawn on the wall. "- this is the one for Gabriel."

Dean tore his eyes away to stare at the sigil, allowing Castiel to note the utter grief in Dean's expression before the understanding took its place.

But the harsh blue-red collaboration pulsating in Dean's chest made him even warier than before, his heart hammering away even though he  _knew_ he shouldn't have felt as threatened as he did.

He  _hated_ how it only made him feel guilty for bringing Dean to a state of near panic! He hated how ... how Dean made him weaker and vulnerable when he should have been strong!

He  _was_ strong! He should be standing up to Dean as opposed to explaining himself or feeling compelled to apologise when it was  _Dean's fault_ he was in this situation; so seeing the anger residing in Dean's soul made him more frustrated than he should have been, combating the guilt and the inadequacy, yet  _still_ losing the fight.

Dean made him weak.

Love made him human.

"You ... you ... Jesus, Cas!" Dean hissed, looking down at Castiel's wrist again. "Did it have to be that fucking  _deep_?" _  
_

"I wanted to make sure I had enough blood without having to cut myself twice," Castiel frowned, biting his lip again when Dean dug out a pack of tissues from his jacket pocket, pulling one out of the sleeve before carefully laying it over Castiel's wound.

"And this does what exactly?" Dean sniffed, his tone barely conveying the sentiments of his soul.

There wasn't a trace of anger in it anyway.

"It's a call of urgency, so it's, uhhh ... considered more important than prayer. But he's not responding," Castiel replied, looking down to the ground. "I want ... Dean, I need to speak to you about the options we have because without Gabriel I don't have ..." He started to shake, his tears blurring his vision. "I don't know what to do."

Dean didn't respond immediately, and Castiel could feel a certain tightness twist through his chest as he began to assess their situation because without Gabriel, Castiel could hardly do anything at all. His blade provided him little power and without the full extent of his Grace, he wouldn't be able to do anything soon to save Dean's soul from being permanently tarnished.

"Okay," Dean whispered, folding down Castiel's sleeve slowly. "Okay, well, when Gabriel  _does_ get here, he knows where to find us; so can you just ... come home? Please? Sam's worried and he's assuming the worst, and I know things aren't great between us right now but he thinks you're leaving."

There was a pause and Dean cleared his throat. "Not that ... not that I'd try to stop you if you ... I-I mean -"

"Stop thinking like that!" Castiel demanded sternly, reaching up to curl his free hand behind Dean's neck. "Just because I'm upset doesn't mean I care any less about you than I did before! You made a mistake and I'm going to do my best to fix it, but we need to talk about this, Dean, because I don't want you to misunderstand any of the options we have."

"So you  _are_ l-"

"I'm not doing  _anything_!" Castiel started before Dean could get any more distressed. He pulled Dean closer, pushing their foreheads together in a manner that he _knew_ would encourage Dean to relax. The man was tense and his mind clearly unfocused, and it was important Dean understood because if Sam was worried, then they'd _both_ have to convince the boy that things were as fine as they could be. 

"Listen to me," he followed up with a softer tone. "We've been over this several times now. If I had to leave, I'd tell you, but all I'm saying is that we need to talk about ... what I might have to do to get your soul back."

"What do you mean 'get it back'? She said she hadn't -"

"She hasn't taken it from  _you_ , but she's taken it from  _me_!" Castiel growled. "You're  _mine_! I don't care what reason you sold it for - I am  _not_ letting her take you away when I claimed you  _first_!"

 

*

 

Castiel kept his hand in Dean's for the entirety of the walk back to the house, more for Dean's comfort than his own want. The cuts on his fingertips stung every time Dean altered his grip, but Castiel tried to ignore it, more concerned with the way Sam marched on ahead of them. He hadn't quite understood what Dean had said about Sam 'assuming the worst', but it clearly surpassed the mere thought that Castiel was leaving the Winchesters. There was something about the boy's posture; the stiff way in which he walked and the fact that his arms barely moved in the regular manner that had Castiel more than a little anxious to find out as to why that was.

He gathered part of it was down to the fact that Sam had never heard them fight before, witnessing the aftermath more often than not, but his attitude was different.

And his soul was blue.

Castiel rarely examined the souls of anyone other than Dean, what with them being nowhere near as bright or often noticeable, but the soul of a child showed itself far more regularly than that of an adult.

Especially when one emotion in particular was rather prominent.

Castiel didn't know what either he or Dean had done to upset Sam to such a degree, but the fights between them in the past had never encouraged the boy to feel that way.

Not to Castiel's knowledge at least. He'd gone by Sam's facial expressions and the tone of his voice to conclude the extent of his emotion, but the boy had always responded positively with lighthearted conversation and gentle smiles.

He hadn't avoided eye contact, nor had he turned away before Castiel had had the opportunity to apologise for the earlier happenings.

But he didn't question Dean about it in case it was down to some matter both Winchesters had discussed prior to arriving at the stadium, not that it should have affected the way Sam engaged with Castiel.  _  
_

He didn't dwell on it. It wasn't any of his business.

He ran his thumb over Dean's knuckles when they stalled to cross the street, keeping his head hung low even when Dean returned the gesture. He was scared and unsure as to how their conversation would go about; what Dean would be comfortable hearing and what ... he needed to hear regardless. It pained him to even think about it now, because talking about Hell was something he'd never though he'd have to do, and he wasn't  _prepared_ to do it. 

Maybe it was something he should have addressed a long time ago, more so considering just how important it would have been for Dean to know before he'd decided to make a deal. Maybe, in spite of his want to keep Castiel alive, Dean would have seen that his soul wasn't worth it. He would have been sensible.

Castiel knew it wasn't particularly kind of him to make out that Dean was a fool for what he'd done, and although he'd called Dean ignorant before, most of Dean's ignorance could be pinned on Castiel keeping him in the dark. 

But he'd just never thought Dean would find a  _reason_ to sell his soul.

The quiet accompanying their walk wasn't all that unfamiliar, but it didn't exactly better the mood. Castiel didn't particularly want it to. It was honest. It didn't keep anything hidden.

And it was so very different to the silence that occupied the household when they stepped through the front door.

Castiel toed off his shoes when Dean's hand left his own, finding himself gently aided out of his coat, clearly quite a lot of effort made to ensure that the wound on his arm wasn't further harmed. 

"Thank you," he said softly, bringing his arm close to his chest once his coat was off and hung up on the rack, closing his eyes when Dean timorously pressed a kiss to his cheek. He waited for the man to do the same before he walked over to the staircase, going on ahead.

He shut the door when they were both in the bedroom, running a hand down his face in thought as Dean's hands settled on his shoulders.

"You want me to get your blade?"

"Later," he murmured, brushing free of Dean's grip. "Go sit on the bed."

Castiel went to the bedside cabinet, drawing out the brown bag they kept Dean's soul-shard in before taking a seat beside the man on the mattress, rolling the orb out into the centre of his palm. He cringed at Dean's sharp intake of breath, letting the man take it from him and pretending he couldn't see the way Dean's hands shook as they cradled the smooth stone.

"That's what her claim did," Castiel muttered, looking off toward the wardrobe. "And its appearance gets worse the longer she has you in her ownership."

"Is this why it hurt you?" Dean questioned, his voice trembling, and Castiel nodded sluggishly, toying with the drawstrings of the small bag it usually resided in.

"You don't belong to me anymore."

It could almost be seen as a method of mockery, paining him to get close to the man he loved. The demons knew about everything Castiel had gone through - he'd spent time with them, receiving the same cruel flurry of insults from those who thought his care amusing.

Demons didn't have the same pride angels did, and they weren't afraid to be seen speaking to him. 

Nor were they afraid to inflict pain upon every opportunity.

"What ... what else is gonna happen to me, Cas? What did she do to me?!"

Castiel took the soul-shard from Dean's hands carefully, pulsing a little warmth into the orb because  _that_  was something he was still capable of doing, and with the upcoming topic, he needed Dean to be as relaxed and focused as possible. 

He adjusted his position to face Dean, sitting up straight so he could hold one of Dean's hands in addition to the soul-shard, keeping his eyes trained on the glowing orb.

"How many years did she give you?" Castiel enquired, using a little more of his energy to allow Dean to concentrate.

"Ten."

"Ten," Castiel echoed emptily.

"Yeah."

He remembered Dean telling him about Meg's approach, how she'd offered the same number of years for an utterly pathetic price. It made him feel sick to know that they'd been seeking out Dean from the beginning - from the moment Castiel had begun to inflict colour in the centre of the man's chest - and there was no doubt in his mind that Dean had been targeted specifically because of him.

But he directed his thoughts away from that because he in turn should be as focused as Dean was at this point in time. He couldn't focus when more and more evidence suggested that everything that had happened since his fall had been down to  _him_. 

"When that time ... when your ten years are up, they're going to send someone to collect you," Castiel grimaced, clenching his jaw at the thought of hellhounds tearing the bright orb from Dean's chest. "You'll be ... uhhh ..." He swallowed thickly, feeling his eyes prick with tears before he was raising his chin confidently to finish his sentence with as much clarity as possible.

"Your soul will be taken to Hell where the demons will do with you as they want," Castiel stated bitterly through gritted teeth. "In some instances, souls are tortured and mutilated to such a degree that the demonic behaviour influences them to become just as corrupt, in which case ..." Castiel swallowed, taking his hand from Dean's to wipe at his eyes before he could be seen to start crying again. "In which case you would become one of them. You'd become a demon too."

When Dean didn't respond, Castiel got to his feet dropping the soul-shard to the sheets so he could cover his face with both hands, walking to the centre of the room.

"I'm not ... I'm not  _worth_ all that, Dean!" He ground out with a half sob. "You're beautiful and good, and they'll  _ruin_ you!"

He turned around abruptly, tearing his hands from his face to stare at the man. "And _no one_ is going to want to help me fix this!" He yelled, not caring who heard him say as much, because he'd done _everything_   _in his power_ to keep Dean safe in the past! Even when it was forbidden, he'd researched ways he could help without the aid of a soul-shard, hoping that finally, at the end of it all, Dean would actually manage to be happy. "Do you have  _any_ idea what I'm going to have to do to get you out of a  _demon deal_?! In  _my state_?!"

The man was crying quietly, his green eyes dull and empty when Castiel met his gaze, and his breath caught in his throat, making him choke on his tears before he could even continue.

But then Dean was grabbing him and pulling him down, and Castiel went with it, clutching at Dean's shirt with his hands and pressing his face to the side of the man's neck because  _he didn't want Dean to die_! Dean didn't deserve to go to Hell and he didn't deserve any of the suffering that would follow!

"I didn't know," Dean whispered, shaking. "I didn't  _know_!"

Castiel was beginning to wish he'd phrased things a little better. Yes, he'd wanted to make the man aware of just how complicated things were now, and perhaps he'd wanted to make Dean feel guilty for putting him in a position where he'd be forced to endure more hardship for the man's benefit, but it was ultimately cruel of him to place blame on Dean for _everything!_  

"And it's not your fault," Castiel admitted weakly, stroking a hand through Dean's hair as he sat in the man's lap. "I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd ever do it, but I should have! Your soul is far more valuable than my life, Dean! Gabriel was going to make me _better_!"

"But I couldn't watch you suffer anymore," Dean blundered, taking in a ragged breath. "She said you'd die in a couple of weeks unless I made a deal for your protection."

Dean paused before Castiel found himself unexpectedly pushed back, Dean holding onto his biceps to keep him steady.

"I know who it was hurting you, Cas! She told me which angels were hurting you!"

"Angels? Dean -"

"It's not Alastair!" Dean apprised. "It's Uriel, a-and Hester, and some other fucked up bastard called Virgil who thought it'd be fucking  _hilarious_  to screw with your head and make you suffer even more than you already fucking  _had_!"

Castiel stared dazedly past Dean's shoulder as he replayed the man's statement in his mind, his mouth going dry because if this was true - if it were angels that were responsible for all that had hurt him since his fall to earth - then that brought another issue to light; one that he would be blamed for by not just his garrison, but the  _entirety_  of Heaven.

"Gabriel went looking for him," Castiel whispered. "He hasn't ... he hasn't answered my prayers."

He hasn't come back.

What if the archangel was hurt, or ... or what if he'd been captured?

For all Castiel knew, he could have sent Gabriel straight into a trap!

He pushed away from Dean hurriedly to grab his blade from the drawer, stumbling as he rushed to the doorway.

"Wait, wait - _Cas_! Hold on!" Dean shouted, grabbing him from behind. "Where are you going?"

Castiel let Dean pull him back, wiping at his eyes with his free hand.

"I need to retrieve my Grace," he announced softly, resisting the urge to turn around and clutch at the man again, even if the drip of Dean's tears to the bare skin of his neck had him longing to wrap his arm around Dean's chest and repeatedly tell him things would be fine. That Castiel would work everything out.

Even if it did pose a certain risk.

He tipped his head back to rest against Dean's shoulder when Dean hugged him tighter, taking a moment to heal his wounds and draw in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He needed to think. He needed to plan what he was going to do, because right now, he didn't have the faintest idea as to how he could return to Heaven without Gabriel's help.

"You said you weren't leaving."

Castiel careful manoeuvered his way out of Dean's hold, reaching up to brush away Dean's tears with the backs of his fingers. "I'm not," he murmured, attempting a smile. "I just ... I want to go outside for this prayer, Dean. I'd prefer to be alone."

Dean glanced away, rolling his lips between his teeth. "It's not like I'll understand anything you say in that language, Cas - why's it gotta be private?"

"Because if anyone answers me, I don't want them hurting you," Castiel enforced firmly, switching his blade to his right hand so he could reach behind him for the door handle. 

He stepped out into the corridor, not really minding when Dean followed him toward the staircase. So long as Dean didn't actually follow him out back door, and kept himself away from the kitchen window - and any other window visible from the back yard for that matter - then he was absolutely fine with Dean waiting on the first floor.

"Please keep away from the kitchen, Dean," Castiel requested, touching the man's arm lightly. "I won't be very long."

Dean didn't react to Castiel's words, but he stayed where he was as Castiel took his shoes from where he'd left them earlier. He took his coat too, given the fact that he may end up lingering outside for the best part of a half hour, just to be there should anyone arrive. 

He knew it was rather hopeful of him to think that anyone would arrive to aid him. If anything, it'd only induce their mockery when he finally got back, having to beg for help to keep his human safe.

Again.

He stalled in front of the back door, pulling on his coat as he stared out through the clear glass panel. He tried to relax, knowing that with his blade he'd be able to defend himself, should it come to that. Hester hadn't hurt him when she'd paid them a visit a while back.

But then again, Dean had just informed him that she'd intended his torture. Castiel wasn't usually one for believing what a demon had to say, but Dean had sold his  _soul_ for that information also, so it seemed. A demon may lie about the affairs surrounding a deal, but once it was made they were bound to tell the utmost truth.

The demon couldn't have lied about that kind of information. 

Unless, of course, she'd fed such a lie to Dean before sealing the deal in the first place, but that wasn't something Castiel wanted to think about. He trusted Dean, and although his source was somewhat unreliable, it wasn't exactly obvious as to whether or not Alastair was even behind Castiel's torment. Yes, he may have taken a few ingredients necessary for a spell, but they didn't know  _what_ spell it was for, and in all honesty, Castiel was beginning to think that if anything, Alastair could be used as a scapegoat for these events.

Castiel didn't know who to blame. Both options were plausible, but where the angels had reason, Alastair did not. He'd been given orders in Hell, so unless someone was ordering him to continue on with the torture, Castiel had little reason to believe the demon was the cause.

He sighed in confusion, rubbing at his brow as he tried to empty his thoughts of all his doubts. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about something like that - not when Dean and Gabriel were more important. He needed to concentrate in order to make his words reach as many ears as possible, no matter how much they'd mock him for it later.

So he closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before opening the door to step out into the garden.

And unknowingly into the blade waiting for him beyond the doorway.

 

 

 


	24. A Delicate Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My goal is to have this finished before the start of GISHWHES, and given the fact I spent the past week planning out the final few chapters, I genuinely have the confidence to say I'll have it updated by Wednesday next week - and that's not just me saying I'm gonna 'try my best'. It's a definite thing. If anything, it'll be done by this weekend and I might even get two chapters done by next Friday.  
> I've never written with a plan before. From the beginning it's been all 'okay, I'm going to start here and in a couple of chapters time such and such should happen', and I genuinely apologise for never structuring my writing this way before.  
> Thank you to everyone who's both supported me and prompted my to keep writing every week (especially the later because I needed that kind of encouragement to get my lazy ass in gear), and so long as my parents don't ban me from using the computer anytime soon, I think it's safe to say that this'll be finished in less than a months time.  
> Thanks again!

 

 

Then I bow my head, as a chorus of long lost friends  
Floats past, cussing me out, and I sink safe and sound  
Into a fiery wreck,  
Naked, past the pillars of smoke and spots  
I can see them now  
Salty and tuckered out  
So I’ll keep my eyes closed  
‘Till I wake up at home  
Safe and sound

_Mark Lenover_

 

 

 

Castiel didn’t remember the fall to the floor, barely registering the drag of the blade through the flesh of his stomach as the weapon was dislodged. He stared up at the ceiling, his heartbeat a loud thrumming in his ears, as he tried to focus on the dull lighting above him. There were faint noises in the background, thuds and the harsh scraping of metal, and Castiel looked elsewhere dazedly, trying to determine what the cause of such sounds were.

That’s when everything seemed to take effect.

He choked; the taste of blood filling his mouth as the shadows moved past him, silent and glinting with silver, and he reached down with a hand to cover his wound, his other feeling around for his blade on the cold kitchen tiles beside him as he kept his eyes trained on the figures that were heading on through to the hallway. The movements were slow; dragging out at an almost mockingly lethargic pace, and Castiel could feel his heart rate quicken when he realised what it was that was happening; his sight blurring with tears and panic pounding in his chest as he screamed as loudly as he could for Dean to get out.

A shadow stilled in the doorway as Castiel tried as best he could to roll onto his side and get to his feet, his head spinning and his limbs weak as he urged himself to move, desperate to keep Dean free of harm.

He didn't care if he'd only bleed out faster. He wasn't going to let  _anything_  hurt his family.

Castiel gripped the back of one of the chairs, reapplying pressure to his wound before he was shoved backwards, landing hard on the floor as one of the shadowed forms loomed over him, and Castiel swallowed thickly, fumbling around for his blade again even though he knew he wouldn't find it.

It was never there when he needed it most.

He glared up at the figure as best he could, his poor vision making it all the more difficult to focus, and he coughed up the blood from the back of his throat as he tried to shuffle away, crying out when the foot landed on his throat, forcing his head back against the floor.

"Dean, ru-"

His shout ended on a choke as more weight was rested on Castiel's neck, the sharp taste of blood making his eyes sting with even more tears as he weakly pushed at the attached limb.

"Oh dear," came the murmur above him as Castiel's air supply was momentarily cut off completely, and he struggled pathetically, the tears burning hot on his skin as his vision distorted with white. "Are you quite alright, Castiel?"

He couldn't focus on anything but the pain - that sharp sensation in his stomach that had worsened from his stupid attempt to try and move away again, and he whimpered, realising just a little too late who it was above him.

But the warding ... the warding should have kept them out! No one but an archangel could pass the barriers they'd put up around the house, Castiel's minute amount of Grace barely registering him as an angel at all as he passed the sigils - but the others were different! They were of  _full_  power! They shouldn't have been able to get past! This shouldn't have been  _possible!_

"Been enjoying your little stay on earth, hmm?" Uriel sneered, enforcing his words with a firm press to Castiel's windpipe, making him yelp out of reflex as his breathing was only restricted further. "Humanity treating you well?"

Castiel's shirt was sticking to his skin, the blood running down his sides and pooling beneath him on the kitchen tiles, but still he clawed at Uriel's leg, finding himself incapable of doing anything else.

They were going to hurt Dean - the others had gone to hurt Dean - and Castiel couldn't do a damn thing to stop them!

He should have been more careful! He should have put up stronger warding - even if Gabriel wouldn't have been able to enter the house!

Dean wasn't safe!

"Don't hurt him," Castiel begged, his voice coarse and grating in his throat. "Please don't hurt him! He's -"

His lungs tightened as Uriel took a step back, his body pinned to the floor by his brethren's energy whilst the angel paced tauntingly beside him, waving a hand through the air.

Castiel knew he was bleeding out at a dangerously fast rate, his head foggy in spite of the fact he was held still, and his heartbeat dull, a slow yet heavy echoing pulse in his skull; but he couldn't do anything, immobilized and muted as he heard Dean's shouts in the room next door; the calls for Castiel and the short quick cry for Sam before the man was stood beside the stove, an angel either side of him with a blade angled below his chin so the tip cut into his flesh, drawing blood.

"Cas," Dean croaked, his eyes reflecting the same distress and panic of his soul. "Cas, wha-"

" _Shut up_!" Hester snarled, tilting Dean's chin up higher with the weapon to expose the span of his throat, the man letting out another strangled shout, and Castiel tried to push himself up, drawing in a sharp breath when the muscles in his stomach clenched, causing him to choke and wince as more of the metallic taste coated his tongue.

His voice was still useless, his mouth moving with nothing more than a gargled sound passing his lips as the blood ran from the corner of his mouth to his jawline, and his sight blurred further as his head throbbed with an indescribable exhaustion.

"Well, isn't this something?" Uriel chortled, walking in front of Dean, running his eyes down the expanse of his body, his sight lingering on the man's chest. "The angel and the fool."

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Dean blurted, his jaw clenching and his eyes shutting tight when Hester dragged the blade against his skin, making a small incision on the soft underside of Dean's chin.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to turn the blade on her and stab it through her neck.

Uriel cast a quick glance over his shoulder to Castiel, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Quite something you've got here, Castiel. Even more disgusting and obnoxious in person."

Castiel's vision faded partially, shapes melding with the outline of Dean's body, and a sob wracked through him, making his shirt pull tight across his wound from the abrupt motion. It didn't even hurt that much anymore, his weakness dissolving the pain as his eyes scored desperately over the blurred figures, not wanting himself to fall unconscious and abandon Dean when there was still a chance he could  _do_  something.

"And apparently he's even more of an idiot than you are."

Castiel stifled another cough, his breathing a struggle with the blood clogging his throat, but he intended to try and keep as still as possible. He couldn't risk losing blood any faster - not when he could barely even concentrate anymore. The blood loss was doing wonders for the pain but it only alerted him to how much time he had left, his senses dulling the longer he lay motionless.

He'd never been this weak before. Even when his wings had broken free that night, he'd never been as fatally wounded as this.

And now Dean had to watch. Dean was being made to watch Castiel endure the pain this time round, and that was something Castiel had always tried to avoid.

His memories had been filtered; the worst aspects kept secret to save Dean from seeing anything that would induce the man's guilt, but regardless of that fact, whenever Dean had seen him suffer from injury, it had never really been to a degree where death was a likelihood. Castiel knew what kind of effect a stomach wound had on the average human. He'd read files of charge members where even shallow incisions had taken their life; and here Castiel was: pinned to the ground with no means of applying pressure to the damage as Dean was forced to watch him  _die._

He couldn't do anything.

Uriel had started to talk again but his words were slurred and indecipherable, his pacing spasmodic yet smooth as the wings revealed themselves slowly on his back; and Castiel let his eyes drift to the other two angels, watching their wings unsheathe in sync. The action was unnecessary, but it was intimidating, and Castiel could feel his chest clench when he noted the way they huddled around Dean's form, the man's shouts for him louder than Uriel's speech before it cut off and Castiel was left alone in the kitchen, the force relinquished from his body.

He blinked, turning his gaze to the ceiling as the tears continued to roll toward his hairline, drawing in a ragged breath before slowly moving his hand to rest it in the blood beside his hip. It was thicker and colder than he'd thought it'd be, but he dragged his fingers through it shakily, smearing it out across the tiles in the shape of a small circle.

Castiel doubted it'd help but he needed to try. He didn't have much time left and he knew that at the rate things were going, the most he could really do was send out a request for someone to bring Dean back to earth. Angels weren't permitted to hurt a human unless they were a significant threat, so Castiel knew that even if it was  _him_  making such a request,  _someone_  would have to bring Dean back. What Uriel and the others were doing was forbidden!

They'd be punished for interfering.

Castiel drew the line through the circle carefully, trying to keep his arm from trembling as he began to chant out his prayer, his throat lubricated with blood in spite of the slight tightness that had remained after Uriel's departure. It distorted his already weakened voice, making each syllable all the more exhausting to pronounce, but he kept going, signing the sigil with his fingertip before laying his hand flat on its surface. There was a slight swell of energy beneath his palm as the call carried out his prayer, and he closed his eyes, whispering the final words of Enochian before slowing his breathing to calm himself down.

 

*

 

Dean didn't know where he was.

He glanced around nervously, expecting another one of the bastards to rear their head and make another fucked up comment about Castiel's situation, but he was alone. He was completely alone without a damn clue as to what was happening or what they'd done to Cas, but he was absolutely fucking terrified!

This wasn't meant to happen!  _Nothing_  like this was supposed to happen! Hell, the demon had told him Cas would never be hurt again!

And yet the last time he'd seen the guy, Cas had been bleeding to death on the fucking kitchen floor, looking so fucking scared and apologetic when it wasn't even his fucking fault; and Dean didn't know what the fuck he could do because he was out in the middle of nowhere with no way of getting home, and no way of getting help for Cas, or even making sure that Sam was alright because they could just as easily go back and take Sam to some unknown location halfway across the world too!

He felt sick. He was going to be sick. Cas had been planning on fixing everything - on making things normal because Dean had already fucked things up beforehand.

He should never have accepted the deal. Fuck, he'd known beforehand that it was a bad idea, but he'd never known what selling his soul actually  _entailed_!

He hadn't known that once his ten years were up, he wouldn't be going to Heaven - that he'd never be able to see Cas again unless he became one of those fucked up creatures and ended up in a war against the guy - and that thought scared him even more because he'd heard what Cas had said; about the torture and the pain, and he didn't even want to fucking think about it. Not simply because it was a future he didn't want for himself, but because that wasn't even the worst fucking issue right now.

Dean didn't know if Cas was even gonna  _live_  after what the angels had just done to him! There'd been so much blood and Cas hadn't been fucking  _moving_!

And Dean couldn't call an ambulance without his phone, or pray to Gabriel because he didn't know how Enochian fucking worked, and everything was going to absolute  _shit_! All those promises that Cas wouldn't die - after he'd sold his fucking soul under the impression that Castiel would live an average fucking lifespan - were just lies, and Dean felt like an absolute fucking idiot for believing everything he'd been told!

He crouched down when the flare of white flashed in his eyes, covering his face with his hands as he started to count, no matter how fucking pointless it was. He could feel the attack swelling in his chest, tightening his lungs and making his body shake, and it was stupid. It was so fucking stupid because it was wasting his precious fucking time! He needed to think straight - he needed to focus on what was important instead of letting his shitty brain make things more difficult than they needed to be!

But that thought only seemed to make things worse and he whimpered when the heated ache started behind his eyes, steadying himself with a hand planted firmly on the grass turf, his fingers digging into the soil.

It's what they'd been waiting for, they'd said. The deal. That they'd known Dean would fuck up eventually.

All because those assholes thought Cas was corruptive - that he was a selfish individual that had coaxed Dean into selling his soul - and now Dean had been abandoned with Uriel's fucking laugh echoing in his thoughts as that condescending shithead claimed he was 'saving Dean's life'.

It wasn't funny. It was so fucking far from being funny! Castiel was the best fucking thing that had ever happened to him and it wasn't anyone else's place to decide as to whether or not caring about him was a good idea! Hell, Cas had already saved his life. It was those fucktards that were putting it at risk, and Dean honestly had no words to describe just how much he hated them for dictating how he could live his own shitty little life when it had absolutely no effect on them in the long run!

And there was literally no incentive for them hurting Cas like that! All they'd given was some bullshit line about doing the right thing with that same patronizing tone to their voices - like they mocking Dean for wanting to be with Cas!

It was disgusting and wrong, but it reminded him that if he didn't get over his fucking panic attack, then there was a chance he'd never get to see the guy again.

Dean took in a sharp breath, letting himself fall sideways until his shoulder was pressed against the nearest tree, the white clouding his vision dying down as he continued to count past ninety. He waited for the ache behind his eyes to dispel before attempting to stand upright again, his legs trembling as he grabbed at one of the lower tree branches, and he forced himself to take another look around the grassland, knowing that he could have spent the past few minutes thinking up ways to get himself out of this mess as opposed to letting himself worry further.

The area wasn't as barren as he's initially thought it to be, and there was some kind of building in the distance. If they had a phone there then there was a chance he'd be able to call for an ambulance, or at least call Sam and get him to help Cas, and he could figure out his geographical problems once the angel was safe.

That was the main priority right now: make sure Cas would be okay.

He wiped the tears from his face, pausing for a moment as he stared down at his feet, knowing that he wasn't exactly prepared for being outside. He didn't particularly care though, knowing that stubbing his toe on a rock or something was nowhere near as bad as what Cas was currently suffering through, so he started to jog in the direction of the building, picking up speed until he was sprinting, his head reeling from the movement. He was grateful it was grass he was running across as opposed to some kind of gravel or dirt landscape, even if pieces of grit were clinging to the bottom of his socks and digging into his heels. It was nothing. It could be way worse.

And Cas was important. He was worth it. Dean didn't even care if the angel wouldn't be able to fix the whole soul issue. He just needed Cas to survive.

 

*

 

"... Castiel?"

There were hands cradling his jaw, a warmth rushing through his body, but still he felt too drained to open his eyes, breathing out a 'Dean' weakly as his head throbbed with a want to sleep. His palms were stuck to the floor, cold and numb from a lack of circulation, but he ignored the discomfort, chasing the warmth of the energy flowing into him with his own remaining Grace, taking in the power and willing his body healed.

He knew it was selfish of him, focusing on the life energy of another to revive himself - especially when his reasoning for calling upon another angel was to have them save Dean, not himself.

But that bought with it a few questions, given the fact that an angel was  _willingly_  supplying him with their Grace to aid him. It wasn't Gabriel - he'd have recognised such a presence through the power his form emitted - but he didn't know who else there was that would  _want_  to heal him. His wings may not be on display, but he was still the same creature. Sheathing his wings had never made anyone act kinder to him before. If anything, they'd only laughed at his attempts to hide the one thing they'd all despised him for.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, his sight distorted by the bright lighting above him, and he took in a deep breath, concentrating on the light fitting before letting his eyes wander elsewhere.

He didn't know how he was meant to react when he found Anael sitting beside him on the tiled floor, her red hair falling over her shoulders as she drew her hands away with a slight smile, but he couldn't help but stare, somewhat confused.

"Anna?" He whispered, feeling his wound close up completely, and he looked down to his shirt quickly, placing a hand over the phantom opening. "Wh ... what?"

"You'll be fine now," she said softly, getting to her feet and adjusting her jacket.

Castiel looked about him in confusion, sitting up abruptly. "You  _healed_  me?"

"It's my job to heal, Castiel. And I was right in thinking that no one else would help you at a time like this," Anael told him, rolling her lips between her teeth as if deep in thought before offering Castiel a hand. He looked at it for a few moments before gingerly reaching out to take it, allowing himself to be pulled up from the floor. "Are you ... are you alright?"

Castiel could feel the anxiety slowly trickle back into his veins, worry rising in his thoughts as he looked around desperately, reminding himself of everything that had happened prior to his unconscious state.

"They took him," Castiel stated quietly, his tone bitter and sharp. "They ... they ..."

He darted past toward the kitchen doorway, rushing out into the corridor toward the staircase as fast as he could.

"Sam!" He shouted, taking the stairs two at a time. " _Sam_!"

Castiel stumbled onto the landing, not all that surprised to find Anael waiting for him on the upper floor.

"Castiel, what's going on?"

"What do you  _think's_  going on, Anna?!" He blundered rhetorically. "Did you even listen to my prayer?!"

He knew it was incredibly disrespectful to speak to her as such - especially after she'd just gone out of her way to have him healed - but he was panicking more at the thought of them taking Sam too! There was no reason for them to involve the boy, let alone hurt him, so he was more than slightly relieved to find Sam seated on his bed with his laptop, even if he still wore that expression of near disappointment from earlier. It changed drastically when he cast a look over to Castiel, Sam pulling out his earphones hurriedly before setting his laptop to the side and getting to his feet, his eyes glazed as they scoured over Castiel's body.

Castiel turned to face Anael again. "Take him somewhere safe, Anna. He's still at risk here."

"C-Cas, what ... i-is that  _blood_?!" Sam blurted, and Castiel wiped the fresh tears from his face, looking back at the boy over his shoulder. He started toward the younger Winchester slowly, grateful that in spite of his appearance Sam met him halfway, grabbing onto Castiel's shirt and staring at the bloodstains in horror. Castiel rested his hands on Sam's shoulders gently, lowering himself so they were on eye-level, even if the boy continued to look at him with that same frightened expression.

"It's okay, alright. Don't worry about the blood. I'm okay now," Castiel tried, his voice cracking in his poor attempt to acquire a more comforting front. It was even more difficult seeing as he was simultaneously crafting a lie in his mind, knowing that telling the truth would probably prove to be more complicated - especially when Sam was still clueless in regard to the whole angelic aspect of Castiel's life.

"What happened?!" The boy questioned, looking past him into the corridor. "Where's Dean?!"

Castiel swallowed thickly, momentarily averting his gaze. "I-I don't know," he began, watching the different emotions flicker over Sam's face. "Some ... some people came into the house and I ... I woke up on the kitchen floor, but ..."

He trailed off when he felt Anael's Grace reach out to him, curling around his mind, and he let it happen, glad he could explain the issue properly to her without Sam finding out about anything he shouldn't. He was a little surprised when Sam wound his arms around his shoulders tightly, carefully repaying the favour by hugging the boy back, biting his lower lip in an attempt to keep anymore tears from spilling down his face,

"I could hear you guys shouting," Sam started, his voice low and strained. "I-I didn't wanna come down cos' I thought you were fighting again! I didn't realise -"

"It's not your fault, Sam," Castiel interrupted softly, frowning against the side of his neck. "I'm just glad they didn't come up here and take you too."

He pulled back slightly so he could meet Sam's gaze again, trying to make himself appear more confident. "But Anna's agreed to help us find him," he insisted, glancing back at the other angel for confirmation. "Right?"

There was something like sadness in her eyes and she looked almost pained, but she nodded slightly, her lips pulled in a tight line. Castiel tried to ignore the touch of darkness washing over her stare, focusing on Sam once more as he rose up so he was standing straight. He let the boy cling to him, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down Sam's back before guiding him toward the doorway.

"Did you call the police?" Sam asked quietly.

"Not yet. I wanted to make sure they hadn't hurt you first," Castiel offered in response, although in reality, even if he should call the police, there was nothing they'd be able to do. There wasn't even a guarantee that Dean was still on earth.

"May I speak with you for a moment though, Castiel?" Anna requested when they neared her, and Castiel stiffened, clenching his jaw.

"I ... I'd rather not have to leave Sam alone if it can be helped," Castiel stated, even if it would make more sense to talk with Anael in private. The thing was, he didn't know if Uriel and the others planned on returning, but if that  _was_  the case, then he most certainly didn't want to risk having Sam come to harm. At least if he was nearby, he had a better chance at offering protection - more so if Anna stayed with him.

Anna looked at him for a moment longer before quickly outstretching her hand to press two fingers to the centre of Sam's forehead, causing the boy to slump into unconsciousness at Castiel's side. Castiel crouched down to keep the boy stable, holding him upright so he would regain his prior position when he re-awoke.

"I know what you're thinking," Castiel ground out before she had the chance to speak. "But all I'm asking is this one thing. I just need Dean bought home safe. He hasn't done anything wrong."

"I don't know if I can help you," she replied pathetically, and Castiel's vision was momentarily clouded in white.

"Anna -"

"The others talk about you a lot, Castiel! You  _and_  your bond mate! They know he's made a deal, and if they've taken his life, there's no way I'll be able to bring him back to you!"

"What do you mean they know about the deal?! I've only known for a few hours - if that!" Castiel shouted in alarm. "Are you telling me they've been  _watching_   _him_?!"

Anael took a step toward him as if to attempt comfort. "I never partook in these conversations, Castiel. I don't know."

"But you listened to what they had to say, right? What were they saying about him?!" Castiel prompted sharply, a different kind of tightness constricting his throat in comparison to that of Uriel's Grace earlier. He knew he was being brash and audacious but Castiel knew now that what the demon had told Dean was utter truth, and if the angels had been planning something in regard to both Dean's suffering in addition to his own then he  _desperately_  needed to know as to what else they intended.

"Nothing along the lines of kidnapping and murder, I assure you," she started, looking down to her feet. "With the war at the moment, the most they said was that it wasn't fair of you to be the cause of another shortened human life. They don't think you deserve someone to care about you that much."

Castiel stalled in his speech for a second. "That's it? That's the worst you heard?"

"If I knew more I'd tell you, but I don't interact with the guardians often. Especially when they've been sectioned off," she insisted before pausing. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Anna, I have no one else! You said it yourself: no one else would ever dream of helping me, and you'll hardly be reprimanded for saving a human life!"

"We don't even know if he's  _alive,_  Castiel! You're asking me to scour the earth in search of someone who's potentially dead!"

"Then take me back to Heaven!" He retorted. "If you're going to turn your back on me  _yet again_ , then at least do so when I have enough strength to save my family by myself!"

She looked at him in blatant surprise, her eyes swimming with hurt, but he ignored it because if the one person he had to count on was choosing not to out of embarrassment, then he needed to use her guilt to his advantage. He knew she still felt culpable after everything that had happened before the trial, and even if it was cruel, he needed to persuade her to help  _somehow._  He didn't know how much time they had left to save Dean - or even if they had time left at  _all_  - and although it could induce an argument, it was the only option he had.

But it wasn't just that. He was still angry with her. He may not have let his emotions claw their way to the surface when she had aided him in the kitchen or further spoke to him of the few things she'd heard in Heaven, but she'd neglected to apologise for making things worse all those years ago. It was true that she'd been one of the few angels to have never been influenced by the behaviour of everyone else in terms of the abuse, but she'd made a promise.

A promise she'd broken almost immediately.

"It's not fair of you to use that against me. You know I -"

"You were a coward!" Castiel hissed, staring at her through bleary eyes. "You told me you'd support my case, and yet you allowed your choice to be swayed  _purely_  because you were frightened they'd mock you for your initial decision!"

"Rapahel -"

"Punished  _me_  for standing up for what was right! Not Balthazar. Not Gabriel.  _Me_ ; and you know as well as I do that what he proposed was wrong - just like you know this instance isn't going to get you into any trouble whatsoever!" He interrupted again. "What Uriel and the others are doing is forbidden, and all I'm asking is that you help me save a man who has been taken for the sole purpose of amusement and unnecessary suffering!"

Anael winced, turning away briefly as she combed a hand through her hair. "I ... you're Graceless though, Castiel! If you go to Heaven now, the demons will -"

"I don't care, Anna! I'm more useless on earth than I am in Heaven right now!"

"And what about the boy? You can't take him with you - especially when he doesn't even know what you are!"

Castiel frowned, looking to Sam slumped against his shoulder. He hadn't thought about where Sam could stay whilst he looked for Dean, but Sam's safety was just important. Castiel didn't want to leave him in the house knowing someone could come back for him, but with the war in Heaven, it wasn't safe there either.

Except, it was. The chambers were already warded from those of demonic nature and various other threats, and so long as Sam didn't wake up until it was appropriate, then in theory, Sam could be temporarily escorted to Heaven.

"I'll take him to my chamber," Castiel stated, forcing himself to keep talking when Anael turned back to him, opening her mouth in protest. "I'll put a blood seal on the door so no one but myself can enter, a-and as soon as I get my Grace back I'll assign him a mist and take him home again!"

"If Raphael finds out he won't let you return here! It's bad enough that you want to retrieve your Grace; but to take a human with you? Is it really worth the risk of imprisonment?"

He didn't care about that. This wasn't  _about_  him. This was about keeping the Winchesters safe, and if he was going to be imprisoned for protecting two human lives then he'd accept the punishment with open arms.

"Are you going to help me or not?"


	25. I Repent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in spite of me being an absolute idiot and losing half of the chapter yesterday morning, I've managed to turn this around with the minimum amount of crying and stress as quickly as I fucking could  
> if there's spelling mistakes, grammatical errors - that kind of thing - it's because I haven't learnt my lesson about writing directly into AO3. and also because I haven't slept in over two days. this is what I get for not saving frequently enough whilst I write ... or for also staying up so late that I press the wrong keyboard shortcuts by accident and close every single fucking tab I have open
> 
> on another note, you guys are probably gonna hate me for the next two chapters. I would apologize but I've already promised you a happy ending so, y'know. it shouldn't be all that bad

I was on the fence and I never wanted your two cents  
Down my throat in the pit, with my head upon the spit  
Oh reverend please can I chew your ear? I have become what I most fear  
And I know there's no such thing as ghosts but I have seen the demon host 

_TimberTimbre_

 

Dean clamped a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he hid in the cluster of trees. The footsteps were low as they sounded just a short distance away, the dark snarl cutting through the air, carrying out through the wood like a gunshot. He tried to keep himself as still as possible, steadying his breaths as he listened out for more movement. It was difficult to detect anything remotely helpful with all the screaming in the background, but at the sound of a branch snapping to his left Dean was whipping round and running for his fucking life! 

His legs were aching and the back of his throat was raw and dry, but he knew where he was and he needed to get to the building as fast as he fucking could before he ran into something worse than a dog made of fucking smoke!

He weaved his way through the trees, blocking out the distant cries as he tried to plan out some sort of route. He was essentially running blind here, and Cas' memories had never shown much of the Garden at all. Dean was getting lost and he knew that if he didn't get somewhere safe he was going to be ripped to fucking pieces!

His feet came down heavily on the twig littered floor as he tried to map out his path, splinters catching in the material of his socks and cutting at his soles, but he couldn't stop no matter how bad it got because he could  _hear_ the movement behind him. He knew whatever it was could run fast, and he wasn't exactly inconspicuous, crashing through the foliage with his shoulder acting like a fucking _beacon_! 

He knew the angels had done this for entertainment; branding him with a fucking light so everything else could track him.

So much for saving his fucking life!

He raised an arm to knock away a branch, ducking and stumbling and crying out when his hand was cut open on a piece of split wood. It only made everything else seem worse and he bit back his whimper, trying his best not to let his shortness of breath slow his pace.

Dean knew he wouldn't be able to keep going for much longer at all. He was on the verge of doubling over from lightheadedness and his lungs were burning from a lack of oxygen.

He wanted to go  _home_!

He could hear the bracken crunching to his right, the heavy thump of the creature as it thudded through the forest, and Dean willed himself to stop running when the ashen dog came tearing in front of him, his feet skidding on the ground as he tried to steady himself and freeze altogether.

It was different up close, its body shifting and twisting with smoke as it snapped its jaws and adjusted its stance, lowering its head as its red eyes flared with excitement. It wasn't like anything Dean had ever seen before - even in Castiel's memories he'd never seen something like this and Cas had seen _a lot_! Hell; Dean didn't even know if he'd even be able to get away. His thighs were burning and each breath stung, but regardless,  _that_ fucking thing was monstrous in size. 

Dean doubted he'd be able to get far no matter how fast he ran.

He stared across at the creature, keeping as still as possible as he drew in a ragged breath, his mouth tasting coppery and stale. He cast a quick glance to the side, wondering if the lowest branch of the next tree over would support his weight.

But then that sickening reminder returned, telling him yet again that he probably wouldn't make it in time; that it was pointless to even try.

He reached behind him slowly instead, grasping at whatever he could, holding back a wince when the broken skin of his palm scraped against the bark of a tree. He just needed something to defend himself. A branch, some kind of rock - he didn't fucking care! He just needed a way to keep that  _thing_ from ripping off his fucking legs!

The growl rumbled through its form as it took a step toward him, some kind of dark fluid dripping from its jowls, and Dean could feel his knees start to buckle, his breath catching in his throat when its tail whipped through the air and the beast crouched lower, lips pulled back in a snarl.

Dean held back his whimper when he continued to find himself weaponless, his thoughts twisting with all the potential outcomes of this situation. He knew it could only end badly. He couldn't run anywhere near as fast as one of those things, and even if he could, he doubted this was the only one out there. There'd be more; ones full of energy because they hadn't spent the past half hour chasing someone through a fucking forest. That wasn't even the worst part though, because he knew the angels were watching him. That they thought his and Castiel's suffering amusing. That's why he was struggling so much to fend for himself now, because he was in the middle of a _forest_. It couldn't have simply been a coincidence that there were no branches in reach right when he needed one most!

He bolted to the side when the creature abruptly surged toward him, knowing all too soon that he hadn't reacted fast enough. He let out his scream long before the teeth sunk into his calf and he was tossed to the ground, the back of his head slamming hard against the girth of a tree trunk, a high pitched wailing sounding in his ears. There were tears welling up in his eyes at the first distinct stab of agony, making every inch of him burn with shock, and he kicked viciously at the dog's snout to try and get it off, tears streaming down his face when it only encouraged the creature to clamp down harder.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" He yelled desperately, repeatedly bashing the heel of his foot against the dog's face no matter how much it fucking hurt him in the process, his fingers digging into the soil as his hands flailed blindly across the dirt searching for absolutely  _anything_! He screamed again when the teeth dug deeper, grasping at raised roots and fistfuls of dirt until his hand came crashing down on the  jagged surface of a stone.

He didn't have to think twice, throwing it clumsily and wrenching his leg free as the creature let out a piercing shriek.

Dean clambered to his feet without much thought of how it would effect him, more concerned with getting a head start than how much it'd hurt to even try, but his left leg instantly gave way beneath him and he was sent crashing into the foliage, unable to withhold his cry as his face grated against a splintered branch, cutting him just beneath his eye. Still he kept moving, wheezing as each breath scratched at the back of his throat.

He was blinded by his panic, the dizziness and the pain making his head swim regardless of how hard he tried to focus on what was ahead. Each breath was terrifyingly sharp in his esophagus, the metallic scent of his own blood making everything all the more unbearable when it caught in his sinuses, making him gag.

The trepidation rolled through his chest abruptly when he acknowledged the lack of any other sound whatsoever, and he shot a quick glance back to where he'd been laying on the ground moments ago, his face screwing up involuntarily as he choked on a sob.

"What are ..." he swallowed thickly when the angel's eyes scoured his face, its expression unreadable as its eyes went on to travel the length of his body, and Dean didn't bother holding back his shout when it briskly strode toward him.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!" He screeched, his throat coarse and dry, shredded by the volume of his voice. The angel didn't even flinch, outstretching a hand the closer it got, and Dean struggled lamely to get away, jerking forcibly in a poor attempt to keep his distance, sending him crashing to the ground. His leg was set at an awkward angle and he whimpered in pain, casting a quick look down at the injury to see just how bad it was, the pain worsening the longer he sat staring at the gouges in his flesh and his bloodstained fabric of his jeans. The bout of nausea came crashing down on him like a fucking tidal wave, a bitter taste filling his mouth as his vision flashed red. He retched, the acidity of bile burning at the sandpapered flesh of his throat, asphyxiating him and making him splutter uncontrollably. He slammed a hand down against the dirt, crying out in agony with every additional impression of pain as he tried to push himself upright, aware that the angel had started toward him again.

"Don't touch me - DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" He tried, scrabbling against the dirt to drag himself away when the fingers were mere inches from his forehead, his panic making his actions bunderous and gauche, his head throbbing with heat and disequilibrium. His voice was hoarse and his fingers bleeding as he tried to pull himself along, and he dropped his face to the soil, dirt clinging to the tears on his face as he wept against the ground.

"What'd I ever do to you?" He wailed when the footsteps sounded beside him, throwing out an arm to shove at their leg and keep them at bay, the sensitive skin of his hands dragging over coarse material. "What'd I do to deserve this?"

"G-chis-ge ol emna?"

"I don't understand what you're saying!" He snarled in response, batting away the hand that came down to touch his head again. He didn't care if the angel had technically just saved his life. Nor did he care whether or not this bastard was working with Uriel. It may be an unfair decision for him to make, but from what he'd seen in Castiel's memories, very few angels deserved kindness, even if they'd never partaken in the torment. The majority were cold and heartless, and Dean wasn't ready to forgive  _any_ of them. Especially after this fucking ordeal!

The angel blinked at him, his brow furrowing and his lips pressed tight together as its eyes wandered to Dean's shoulder before they grew comically wide.

"Asmi emna -"

"I know you assholes can speak English so don't keep talking to me in that Enochian bullshit when I just fucking told you I can't understand anything you say!" He shouted, immediately regretting it when he heard the sound echo out through the forest. He glanced around nervously, shifting quickly into a smaller position to keep himself more discreet in the cluster of trees, wincing as the warm slide of blood ran to his ankle, soaking into the material of his socks. He knew it was stupid to start worrying about another dog thing coming after him now when he'd been screaming for the past five minutes. He wasn't safe here, even if there was an angel nearby. Hell, if anything he felt less safe. Especially after saying what he had. Dean knew full well that an angel was just as capable of tearing him apart as demonic hell spawn was, and although this one hadn't actually hurt him yet, that didn't mean it wouldn't.

So when the hand finally settled on the crown of his skull he braced himself, having seen what Cas could do with a mere touch in a war-like situation. But it wasn't pain that followed. Just energy. The warm syrupy flow of Grace that reached out to every aspect of his form, sealing his wounds and easing his muscles; the aches dissipating as his lungs were refreshed, and the gouges in his legs vanquished completely, leaving nothing but the sticky residue of blood on his skin.

"You're his human, aren't you?"

Dean stared at the angel through his tears with a mix of both terror and confusion, not entirely sure as to what the guy had even done to him, regardless of how similar it'd felt in comparison to the few times Castiel had healed him in the past. Sure, he was fucking relieved that the angel hadn't made his head explode or anything of the sort, but he really didn't get why it had spared him. Especially when they were quite blatantly assuming that he belonged to Castiel.

He didn't even know what to say in response. Christ; he didn't even know if this guy was still gonna hurt him or not! He didn't know who he could fucking trust in this place and he sure as hell wasn't going to risk confiding in someone who looked so fucking impassive!

"You're the one they talk about," the angel followed up, his voice low and monotonous as he grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt. Dean could feel the fear sweep through his chest, his hands grasping for purchase at the angel's sleeves in a graceless attempt to get himself free, hauled up from the floor until he was stumbling over his own feet, trying to regain his balance as the angel analysed him for a second time.

"You shouldn't be here," it growled, pushing him up against a tree. "How did you get into the Gardens? Where's Castiel?"

Dean swallowed thickly, incredibly uncomfortable with how close the angel was to him. He didn't even have a decent answer to give, still not fully understanding himself - especially in relation to how he'd found himself in the forest to begin with. He'd been running from where Uriel had abandoned him but then he'd ... it was like he'd crossed a border. One second it'd been bright with thick grass beneath his feet, the next he'd tripped over a pile of broken shrubbery, his left shoulder flaring blue as he'd fallen to the ground.

And then the dog thing had passed him by for the first time.

There was a subtle sound of a twig snapping to their right and the angel whipped its head to the side immediately, staring off into the shadowed depths of the woodland. Dean followed his gaze warily, his heart rate kicking up a notch when he spotted the outline of a figure lurking amongst the branches.

"Looks like you found the prize first."

The angel pushed away from him, a blade falling deftly from his sleeve into his palm as it hissed out some form of reply in its native tongue, wings splaying out sharply.

"I think that's down to personal opinion. This one here's pretty damn valuable."

Dean yelped when one of the angel's wings slapped into him, the guy clearly not caring for the sound at all as it surged forward impeccably fast, skewering its blade through the centre of the demon's chest.

At least, Dean could only _assume_ it was a demon. He didn't really want to consider what other forms of supernatural threats there were out in the world. Everything he'd witnessed up until this point in his life was traumatic enough.

The body crumpled into a pile of dirt on the ground, a few items of clothing layered within the ashen remains, and Dean flicked his gaze to the angel again vigilantly, still unsure of what it was he should be expecting out of this encounter.

It turned to face him slowly, its expression grim. "Where's Castiel?" It repeated again, dragging the words out almost as if it had thought Dean incapable of understanding it the first time around. 

Dean whimpered when it grabbed the front of his shirt once more, his eyes stinging with the threat of fresh tears, remembering exactly how Cas had looked laying motionless on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

"Your asshole fucking friends left him for dead!" He spat, not even caring if the douchebag would decide to beat him down for being disrespectful. "I don't even know if he's alive!"

The angel's expression didn't change, his eyes almost scrutinizing him with a lack of belief, and Dean bought his hands up to his mouth when another sob ripped through him, slamming his head back against the bark of the tree.

"He-he hasn't fucking done anything and you all want him dead!" Dean continued, his crying muffled behind his palm before he went on to wipe the grit and the tears from his face. "He just wanted to make me h-happy and you fucking try and k-kill him for it!"

It took him way too long to realise the bastard was reading his mind, but he didn't have the energy to stop it, squeezing his eyes shut tight so he could pretend he was alone. And safe. With Cas.

He didn't know what he was going to do!

He was praying over and over again in his mind that Sam had called an ambulance; that Cas had been taken to hospital, no matter how high the bill would be to make him better. Dean'd get another job to make up for it. He didn't fucking care if Cas would be pissed at him for it. He'd give anything to see his angel up and about like normal, smiling and laughing and looking just as happy as he'd been at Christmas!

He didn't know what he'd do otherwise. Fuck; everything they'd planned and wanted with each other. They were meant to get _married!_ They were meant to start a family; and save up for a mortgage on a better house; and get Sam that stupid puppy because the kid deserved what he wanted just as much as they did!

Dean didn't know if they could have that anymore. He didn't know if luck would ever be on their fucking side again.

He was brought back to the present with a sharp grip on his arm, finding himself being half dragged through the forest at an uncomfortably fast rate. His stomach was lurching and he couldn't keep himself from crying, awkwardly wiping the tears from his face with the back of his wrist.

He didn't know what the fuck the angel wanted with him, but before he could even voice the question the angel was shooting him a glare and demanding him to keep his mouth shut, fingers digging harder into Dean's bicep as he was yanked forward. The stilted action made him feel incredibly queasy, bringing light to the fact that he knew angels could fly and it'd be so damn simple for this guy to do so instead of yanking him along like a fucking rag doll. 

But then he'd noticed the long and unhealed gouges amongst the feathers of its wings, and he'd decided not to say anything on the matter, attempting to summon some form of gratitude in regard to having his own wounds healed. Dean didn't exactly voice his thanks, but that was more to do with the fact that aside from having his injuries healed, the angel had refused to tell him anything at all.

It wasn't like he'd expected anything different. His association to Castiel was bound to have some kind of effect on the way he was treated, but Dean had also been fairly accusatory and harsh so it wasn't exactly fair of him to put it all down to Castiel's reputation. And actually, in comparison to Uriel and Hester, and whoever the other fucker had been, this angel had yet to be cruel. It had healed him, sort of protected him in a way, and now (hopefully) was taking him somewhere a bit fucking safer than a forest inhabited by any form of demonic creature.

He blanched when they stepped out from the trees and onto the planes though, having hoped that he would have been led _away_ from the fight as opposed to in its direction. The worry churned in his gut and he tried his best to appear smaller beside the angel, closing his eyes as he pretended he couldn't see what was essentially a massacre out in the centre of the field. The screams were shrill and grinding in his ears, the foreign tongue of the angels doing nothing to better the anger in their voices as they were drowned in the wet sounds of ripping flesh and the clash of metal.

There was that swirling sensation in his stomach again and the wings furled around him, rigid against his spine almost as if the angel considered him to be just as 'tainted' as Castiel was. He didn't care. He didn't want their favouritism. If they were happy to treat Castiel like utter crap then Dean would more than happily withstand the same non-existent care.

His eyes flew open when he was shoved forward forcefully, his hands flying out for him to steady himself against the ledge of some kind of table before he whirled around with a frown on his face, stalling when he found himself abandoned.

Dean looked about him frantically, chewing on his lower lip. He listened out for some kind of noise, now surrounded by nothing but the sound of his own heavy breathing as he tried to keep another panic attack at bay.

It ... it didn't look like a physically dangerous place - definitely nothing like it was out in the open area - but that didn't mean it was  _good_! He was in yet  _another_  location that he was completely clueless about, and although he might be alone, he didn't want to be!

Especially when he hadn't even been given a fucking explanation!

 

*

 

Castiel cradled Sam carefully in his arms, holding him close to his chest as images of the Great Hall fabricated around them, the dull yellow lamps becoming bolder and the white marble floor glinting with their reflection as Anna's wings unfurled to reveal the room. He took a wary step forward, running his eyes over the pillared structures before his eyes landed on the darkened skies that shone through the large glass windows, having always despised the way the presence of Hell tainted his former home.

"Are you sure about this?" Anna asked quietly, and Castiel wet his lips, turning to face her for a brief moment.

"Yes," he stated confidently, averting his gaze so he could fix his eyes on the large wooden doors at the opening of the room, fairly certain that he'd be able to get Sam to safety without an issue. The only real threat at the moment was encountering another angel whilst he tried to reach his chamber.

To be perfectly honest, he was more worried about how they'd approach him after the whole earth ideal as opposed to how they'd react at the sight of a human child. He truly doubted that anyone else would be around to see him though. They'd either be locked in their chambers, stationed on earth, or out on the field if they were following the usual protocol. It was too dangerous for them to be idly wandering about the corridors when there was still a chance the demons could make their way in.

That factor, of course, was incredibly unlikely. The gates were sealed with some of the best magic and there was plenty of warding carved into both the foundations and the general structure itself. Even if a demon were to make its way inside, it wouldn't survive very long.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Anna," Castiel murmured, adjusting the boy in his arms as he started toward the door. "I won't tell the others about this. You won't face punishment."

"That isn't my concern, Castiel. What if I can't find him? What if he's already been taken to Hell?"

Castiel gritted his teeth, trying as best he could to ignore those kind of thoughts.

"If that's the case then I'll pursue him myself," Castiel told her, the frown pulling uncomfortably at the corners of his mouth. 

"You know you won't last a moment without some form of defense," she retorted bluntly.

"I wouldn't have asked you to bring me here if I didn't have a plan," Castiel called back to her, continuing on his path. "I know what I'm doing."

When the cool touch tried to envelop his mind he pushed up his barriers, not wanting her to see his intentions in fear of her wanting to help him further. He didn't want anyone else becoming endangered because of him. Even this had admittedly been a rather risky route for Anael to take. Anything else would be unfair.

And he was perfectly capable of locating his Grace on his own. Gabriel had shown him the hidden chamber in the library many a time, having told him that he was welcome to use it as much as he liked, more so in the hopes of getting Castiel to train as a virtue than anything else. 

"Why must you be so obstinate?" She shouted back, her voice bouncing off the walls. "I can't just let you bring a human here if you can't even prove to me you can come back for him!"

"Anael -"

"And you can't possibly tell me you plan on going to Hell on your own!"

"Can you stop bringing up the topic of Hell, please!" Castiel snapped, turning abruptly to face her. "I refuse to believe they've taken his life already, and even if they had, I know what I'm doing!"

Anna stared at him, stoic, and Castiel faced away in annoyance, feeling the heat stain his skin. He was trying to be as optimistic as possible about this and her contribution to the conversation was only making him feel worse. He needed Dean to be alive. They were meant to fix everything and live a normal life.

Hell shouldn't have played any part in the matter.

Castiel was still uncertain as to how he himself could find a way out of it all. He knew that getting Dean's soul back would require quite a bit of negotiation unless he recruited the help of another, but the only other angel he'd ever consider taking with him would be Gabriel. 

The archangel was yet another reason as to why Castiel needed to get his Grace back as soon as possible. Finding Gabriel and ensuring his safety was just as important as locating Dean, if not more in the eyes of Heaven. Castiel was incredibly worried for Gabriel's good health, and he knew that at a time like this, having an archangel go missing would be direly consequential - possibly the factor that could quite well lead to the fall of the angelic race in this war. 

It wouldn't be the first time demons had corrupted the land, but just because Castiel wasn't a part of it anymore didn't mean he couldn't try to prevent his place of origin from falling to ruin. Not when it meant so much to so many others.

"Go back to your station, Anna. I'll be fine," he insisted, pushing on the wooden doors with a shoulder, carefully adjusting Sam in his arms so he didn't knock the boy's head against the door frame. "Thank you for all your help."

He didn't get a response, not that he waited around to hear one. Her concern wasn't going to help him in any way. It would only make things more difficult, and right now Castiel was running out of time.

He didn't want to think about how likely it was that Dean was already gone, nor did he want to think about how probable it was that he himself would die on his venture into Hell. Instead he focused his thoughts on what retrieving his Grace would actually involve because he doubted the procedure would be pain free if the extraction was anything to go by. Even then he didn't know how worthwhile his energy would be when his form had been without it for so long.

Regardless, he'd use what he had. He knew of a few spells that could provide him protection for a short period of time, and so long as he used it appropriately, he would be fine.

As he'd initially thought, the corridors were barren as he made his way toward the East wing, doing his best to ignore the cries voiced from beyond the outer walls, not allowing them to poison his thoughts. The sounds bought with them doubts and reminders; memories of days he longed to forget and erase from his mind, and although with the right concentration he could generally master his control over what thoughts were most prominant, with everything that had happened as of late he found his focus dwindling.

Castiel began to hum to himself as he made his way toward his chamber, murmuring the lyrics to one of Dean's favourite songs under his breath to keep himself distracted. He knew that if he started to panic now it would only waste more time, and he'd wasted enough fretting before back at the house, searching the kitchen several times over in a desperate attempt to find his blade before Anna had reminded him that someone would notice she'd left her point of duty after too long.

Castiel didn't blame her for being wary and impatient. There were bound to be dozens of humans on earth that were in need of some kind of aid, and Castiel knew that her helping him would be frowned upon by multiple members of her Garrison. So he didn't mind. He could create a new weapon once he'd retrieved his Grace anyway.

He stalled outside his chamber when he reached it, running his eyes over the shallow wooden carvings of the exterior as he recited the spell he'd used to keep the door sealed. Stepping inside as quickly as he could, he kicked the door shut, using his elbow to slide the bolt into place before going on to lay Sam down on the ground. He turned to his desk sharply to grab one of the pens from its holder, the silvery-black ink dripping down his wrists when he snapped the creation in two, his fingers coated in the liquid. Castiel began to paint the walls with rough sigils and wards, protection from both angelic and demonic forces, par for himself. That aspect was the most complicated, and he moved about the room signing the sigil for his name within the body of each outline, granting his Grace the only permeable access until he was able to change it.

He'd opted against drawing a blood seal, knowing that doing as such would require a lot more precision. Yes; perhaps he should have been opting for the stronger defense, but he didn't have the time for details. He needed to create something strong and reliable within as short a time frame as he could manage.

He glanced to Sam briefly to ensure his unconscious state before he was unbolting his door and rushing back out into the hallway, chanting the spell from earlier to activate the warding. Within moments of the light shining from beyond the doorframe he was turning and sprinting down the corridor in the direction of the library, hating the way his footsteps echoed noisily amidst the silence of the building. 

He knew he didn't have long. Someone was going to notice his presence eventually; Grace or not.

He only hoped they wouldn't take action until he'd guaranteed Dean's safety.

 

 


	26. You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to do an update. I've hardly had any time to myself since last summer, and now that I'm at uni everything's a little bit hectic (star wars battlefront is literally just sitting on my desk unopened and I've neglected fallout and I feel like a really bad parent for letting my ps4 get all dusty).
> 
> I am a mess

Cause I was born to tell you I love you  
And I am torn to do what I have to  
To make you mine  
Stay with me tonight

_Secondhand Serenade_

 

 

_The pulse of warmth was dull and fleeting in Castiel's chest, curling and twisting, dragging through his veins. Castiel was used to the lacking heat now. He was used to the emptiness and the ache that prompted his fingers to continually glide across the soul-shard._

_He was lost; bitter and worried with every earth day that passed, watching Dean's depression devour his smiles and drown out his laughter._

_The boy was broken._

_"Are you not even a little curious?"_

_Castiel adjusted himself in his seat, cautiously tapping at the soul-shard again, longing for the spark of colour to flood its surface. The frown on his face was permanent, his brow furrowed with concentration as he spent yet more of his energy to soothe the orb, praying for even the slightest of alterations._

_Gabriel paced down one of the isles, circling around a table as he gathered more pointless documents in his arms. "Borning nature, time travel, creating your own **fucking** planet - all that power and you don't even want to know how to use it?!"_

_He could see Gabriel's wings twitch in agitation from the corner of his eye. Choosing to ignore it, Castiel summoned the universal mist to his side, desperate to avoid conversation._

_"This is **ridiculous**!" The archangel persisted, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth when Castiel, yet again, chose to keep quiet._

_A brutal silence followed, amplified by the lack of activity on earth. Dean hadn't moved from beside Sam's crib for hours, knees pulled tight to his chest as he stared through the plastic bars, watching his younger brother carefully. There were toys stacked against the door, jammed close to the hinges so that even John wouldn't have been able to enter the room._

_Sam was the only one who seemed capable of sleeping, oblivious to the danger that had ripped the happiness from their family. He smiled and cooed as if nothing had changed, more than happy to have Dean's complete attention._

_"Okay," Gabriel started, waving a hand through the air so the universal mist was dispelled to the side. Castiel's eyes darted after it immediately, his mouth falling open as he prepared to argue. "Do I need to confiscate the kid to make you cooperate?"_

_Castiel glared across at him coldly, a nerve twitching beneath his eye as he drew Dean's soul shard closer, unwilling to leave it untouched._

_"You know I can't leave him," Castiel stressed. "He's in pain."_

_The snap of fingers echoed through the otherwise vacated area, Castiel's hand falling empty to the table. He blinked once, glancing down for confirmation, before he was pushing the chair back roughly against the floor and stiffly rising to his feet._

_"Gabriel," he growled, clenching his fists as the emptiness swept through his veins. "Gabriel, he's **suffering**!"_

_The archangel pursed his lips and shrugged nonchalantly. "So are you."_

_"He's a nine year old child!"_

_"And?" Gabriel asked, his eyes narrowing slightly._

_"Dean just witnessed his mother's death!" Castiel hissed, watching Gabriel cast a quick glance to the floor when the wooden boards groaned. "And you're keeping me from comforting him when he's in **dire** need of care!"_

_Gabriel let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes, and the barren pit inside Castiel's chest grew, his Grace reaching for the orb that was seeking out his touch._

_"I need to take care of him!" Castiel insisted, the shelves shaking with a mild tremor. "And with his fragile state I can't deal with more than one responsibility! I need to focus on **him**!"_

_"Leave him for a few minutes. Coddling isn't going to help."_

_"Coddling?! I'm doing my job!" Castiel snapped in agitation, the slightest hum of Dean's soul singing for attention; for comfort. The boy's pain was biting at his nerves, winding tight around his muscles so all he could focus on was the sensation bleeding through their connection._

_"Do you think this is easy for me? Having him feed off my Grace all the time?" He continued, watching Gabriel flinch in response. "My bond with Dean is **draining** me, and you want me to try out some strenuous ability when I can barely -"_

_" **Castiel** ," Gabriel interrupted coldly. "Your safety is far more important than his life. He's **one** human. A few hours without care isn't going to kill him."_

_Castiel attempted to calm himself, clenching and unclenching his fists repetitively as he attempted to ignore the dark taint to the bond. He wasn't used to this ... this **longing**. It was a hot pulling on his insides, uncomfortable and persistent. A feeling Gabriel would never be able to grasp. _

_A feeling no guardian would be able to grasp._

_Whatever he was - seraph, virtue - had damaged the bond in a way even Joshua had never heard of. He'd broken something. Something important; and it seemed no matter how many times he tried to gentle his actions, bringing his attention down to the recommended level of care, Dean never responded as well as he'd used to._

_Castiel had been foolish. He'd thought that owing to Dean's past responses, it would be so simple to aid him through these issues; that Dean would regain his bright, yellow glow and his smile would be just as full of warmth as his soul._

_But only now did Castiel acknowledge just how damaged they both were. His poisoned touch was taking effect and the light of Dean's soul shard had died to a sickly grey, resembling the darkness Edward's had once held._

_Castiel refused to let another innocent soul be reduced to dust when it was so deserving of happiness._

_"You say that like his life is in danger."_

_Castiel's wings retracted immediately as Raphael's voice swept through the room, his eyes dropping automatically to the ground._

_"Oh for ... Raphael, get out of here!" Gabriel snapped sharply. "If I valued your input, you would have been present at the beginning of this conversation!"_

_Castiel moved closer to Gabriel slowly, his eyes warily drifting to where the dark-winged archangel stood amongst the bookshelves. He wet his lips nervously, ducking his head when Raphael's stare was aimed his way, drawing Dean's universal mist back to his side to give him some kind of distraction._

_It possibly wasn't the best decision to make given that Dean's visible distress only added to the anxiety and need that spiralled through his system, but anything was better than challenging Raphael's glare when the most recent events had succeeded to make things even more complicated regarding their relationship._

_"I see ..." Raphael murmured, moving in time with the flickering lights as he collected three folders in his arms, silent and graceful, almost concealed in the darkness. "But, I'm not here to listen in on your dull little speech about safety. I'm here to talk to your favourite project."_

_"We're actually rather busy right now, so if you could maybe, I don't know, wait until we aren't th-"_

_"He's been found, Castiel," Raphael interrupted smoothly, and Castiel's distraction was immediately lost, his feathers bristling as his Grace echoed uncontrollably between the shelves, making the archangel opposite sneer upon its happening._

_"Castiel, wait! This is more important!" Gabriel shouted, grabbing hold of his arm to keep him from moving. "You don't have to take care of that right this minute!"_

_Castiel moved out of Gabriel's range, scowling as he walked briskly to the table, his wings jostling the files in his haste to leave. "Yes I do."_

 

_*_

 

 

The smell of sulphur hung heavy in the air surrounding the library, flooding Castiel’s lungs and scratching the back of his throat. It was dank and sharp in his sinuses, sending a chill through his body as he staggered on toward the doorway, his hands shaking with nerves.

He felt dizzy. Lightheaded. He’d stopped sprinting a while back, greeted with a new kind of exhaustion; burning pains in his muscles with every forced step toward the library entrance. He was stumbling and his knees were weak, worn out from running down so many twisted corridors for such a very long time.

The distance had never been an issue before, but he’d never really been at risk of tiring from such a minor activity with his Grace to aid him.

Now, here in Heaven, everything seemed larger. Almost more intimidating. There was a certain pressure to the atmosphere that he knew for a fact wasn’t solely down to the presence of demons; an energy that called out to him just as much as it urged him to run.

It was something he’d been trying to ignore for a while now, even if it made his joints feel stiff and uncomfortable – like there were dozens of weights tied to his limbs intending to drag him down.

The thought of Dean was the only thing he had left to encourage his movements, his worries and doubts fuelling his actions as the twisted fortunes carved their way into even the most farfetched optimistic ideals.

Images of Hell fluttered behind his eyelids every time he blinked. Images of Dean strung up with hooks tearing through the arteries in his body. Ripping. Pulling. Taking him apart one bloody chunk of flesh at a time.

His optimism had abandoned him, leaving an attempt to prevent Dean's death as his only realistic motive.

The darkness surrounding him didn't help matters. It added to the confining ambience of the twisting halls he forced himself to follow, finding his worries more prominent as he was swallowed by the shadows. It may have had something to do with the atmospheric changes that came hand in hand with the demonic infiltration, but, regardless, it did nothing to make him more comfortable with the situation.

He wanted to be home. With Dean. He wanted to be safe and secure with his past completely forgotten and erased from their lives. He'd been stupid and arrogant with his actions, and he should have never attracted attention to himself by flaunting his abilities in even the most unnecessary instances.

Castiel didn’t know why he was concerning himself with such ridiculous things now. The damage was done. It wasn’t entertaining to think about and it only made his eyes sting with fresh tears.

He encouraged the library doors to grind open from his short distance away, the use of his limited Grace only making his muscles throb as he forced his way into the darkened room.

The solitude was what he needed right now anyway. In spite of his worries, it bought a certain comfort with it, knowing that there was no one else about. Even with the little Grace he possessed he couldn't detect anyone else in the vicinity, nothing but the rough sound of his breathing sounding about the room as he struggled to physically close the door behind him.

The weight of the wood was nothing to him, but he couldn't help but wince when he pushed away, his arms falling loosely to his sides. He moved quickly toward the centre row of filing shelves, rubbing a thumb along his jaw roughly to keep himself occupied. He was fidgeting again, his nerves playing up with an eagerness to get this all over with, and although his body was drained and lethargic, his Grace could help.

After … after it had grown accustomed to his form again, that is.

His pace was brisk as he continued down into the shadows, away from the light and closer to the concealed passageway. 

He dragged his free hand over what seemed like an endless row of files to guide his path, his fingers flitting over loose papers and metal clasps, leading him further into the unlit storage, closer to the back wall. He hadn’t ever attempted to walk down in complete darkness before, not that it was all that difficult a task. He’d know where he was once he reached the end, but obviously he’d have more trouble finding the concealed doorway than anything else, given the fact that he could barely see anything without his Grace to light a path.

He outstretched his other arm, holding out his hand so he could feel for the wall when he reached it, increasing his pace. He hated walking down here on his own, more so when it was completely silent. The library doors had blocked out all other noise aside from that of his movements and he was beginning to hate this new feeling of being alone in a darkened space. It was different when he’d provided his own source of light, and when he’d ventured through here with Gabriel. Now it was simply discomforting.

Castiel started to hum again to give himself a false sense of companionship, distracting himself and encouraging his thoughts to fall blank. He’d been thinking too much about too little, allowing his mind to address the more negative outcomes of the entire situation than any of the positive ones. He knew that his pessimistic attitude would prevent him from getting his hopes up, but it was unpleasant overall and he didn’t want Anna’s words to get to him.

Dean wasn’t completely defenseless in the presence of an angel, and if their bond was still as strong as when Castiel was first bound to him, then there should still be an element of protection to temporarily aid him. Obviously Castiel’s weakened state wouldn’t do much good if the energy was shared between them, but it wasn’t really the angels that Castiel was worried about.

Which brought him straight back to the same negative thoughts that he’d tried so desperately to avoid.

He closed his eyes tight, knowing that his vision wasn’t even aiding him at this point in time anyway, as he tried to focus on his point of direction instead. It would be so much easier if he had something more worthwhile than a location to distract him because it seemed that the harder he tried to divert his thoughts, the fiercer the fear was of Dean’s death when they returned.

He jolted when his palm hit the wall, his breath shocked out of him, but he stepped back to leave room between himself and the door, a nervous kind of joy flooding through his chest.

“Odo,” he whispered, reaching out hastily at the familiar sound of the hatch unlocking on the other side. His fingers fumbled over the smooth panels, nails scratching on the wood desperately until they dipped behind the thin ledge, enabling him to open the door properly.

The white lights flickered on beyond the entrance within seconds of him stepping inside, and he quickly shut the door behind him to guarantee that no one could pursue him just yet. Even if there were angels tracking him, the warding in this concealed area would ensure his protection whilst he kept there.

Unless Gabriel had shared the location with others, no one would follow.

He may have felt more comfortable heading down a lit path with no one but himself but it didn’t keep him from humming for the continuation of his walk, keeping his mind from wandering as he picked up speed to start running again, wanting this to be over as soon as possible.

It wasn't too long a distance, the pain somewhat bearable for the short while it lasted before his feet were dragging along the stone and he was wheezing at the entrance to the storage, resting a hand on the edge of the passageway.

The room was already well-lit, the lamps flickering gently as they reacted to his presence, illuminating the files and various other objects that cluttered the work surfaces, and Castiel glanced around him timidly, exhaling heavily through his nose.

He wasn't quite as well acquainted with the room as Gabriel was. He may have visited multiple times but he hadn't been shown  _everything_. He didn't even know where to begin searching for his Grace, more so considering the fact he hadn't even stayed in Heaven long enough to see where the archangel had stored it. 

In spite of it's value, he didn't know exactly how well Gabriel had hidden it - or even if he had at all. Castiel didn't actually know if the other archangels ever used this room to house their belongings but he supposed this was another extension of Gabriel's office. Well, an extension of a fashion. Gabriel seemed to use the library as his room of business, unlike Raphael and Michael who both owned a grotto behind the Tree of Knowledge. Castiel didn't know if Gabriel had ever had one, or even if he still did, but Castiel had never seen it if it did exist.

He walked out to the centre of the room lethargically, rubbing at his forehead as he glanced about him, looking for any form of differential lighting to give away the location of his Grace. It was in a vial - that much he knew. A small, glass vial with a pale cork seal, about the length of his palm in height altogether.

Obviously the colour of its contents would be the real giveaway given how blatant it would appear shining through the clear exterior, and it would be bright.

Incredibly bright.

Castiel spent the next few minutes frantically pulling objects from the shelves within his reach, clambering up onto a tabletop to gain access to those he couldn't get to without his wings to aid him. He was more cautious handling the objects on the higher shelves, knowing that if they fell from such a distance there was a chance they'd break. He didn't need to get in any more trouble if he broke something important - especially when he hadn't even asked Gabriel's permission to come in here anyway. The archangel may be laid back but if Castiel damaged anything irreparable, he didn't know how Gabriel would react. He'd never really seen Gabriel angry before and he didn't particularly want to be on the receiving end should it ever come to that.

It didn't make his movements any more refined, his fingers trembling as they pushed bottles and various other belongings aside, pushing up on the balls of his feet to get a better glimpse of what was there.

Papers and torn files littered the wood; several dusty and blatantly faulted soul shards laying atop them. There was nothing of obvious value, but Castiel knew that Gabriel had been reprimanded once or twice by Raphael for his tendency to hoard even the most useless of objects.

That’s all there seemed to be here. A couple of books from earth and the remains of exhausted souls. Not that Castiel deemed them at all worthless like Raphael had, but they were, quite honestly, useless.

He slumped down to the tabletop, measuring his breaths so he wouldn't become anymore lightheaded. He could sense  _something_ in this room. There was that light tugging in the centre of his chest that he'd been without for months now, his hand instinctively reaching out for what wasn't there. He gritted his teeth, his whole body tensing as the energy continued to sing to him.

His feet scrabbled over the wooden surface as he forced himself to move again, his pulse drumming in his ears. 

 

Castiel hastily scoured the opposite set of shelving with his eyes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of anything remotely familiar. 

There were dozens of vials lining the shelves; bizarre concoctions and murky samples. Nothing that shone or reacted to his presence.

But there was one thing that stood out, albeit subtly. 

It may have been a long shot, but the wooden box seated at the end of the top shelf was concealing something. True, it had a worn and damaged exterior, but he'd never known Gabriel to take drastic measures to keep anything concealed throughout the room anyway. Castiel may have been given the title of a Virtue, but he wasn't anything special, and despite Gabriel's attentive and considerate nature, he still wasn't entirely sure if the archangel would have done anything out of the ordinary to hide the vial of Grace.

It was this thought that encouraged his haste to climb the set of shelving, the tips of his fingers aching as they gripped the wood to pull him up. He groaned, minding each step on the lower shelves so he didn't risk ruining any of the paperwork left there, his muscles burning with the effort to keep hanging on. 

He batted the box closer to him gently from his heightened position, careful not to knock it to the floor. It wasn't heavy in the slightest, and yes, perhaps that did fuel his panic, but he balanced the box against his palm nonetheless, carefully lowering himself back down.

Castiel could feel the sweat on his brow as his feet touched back down on the stone, his fingertips instantaneously clawing at the lid of the box as soon as his hands were free to do so.

The smooth wood cracked and splintered the harder he pulled, a smile breaking out across his face when the first beam of blue light broke through the damage and a pulse of heat surged through his torso.

He couldn't help but cry out as the wood ripped through his hands, the blood running between the split wood and staining the vial that lay nested in the darkness, but still he persisted, scratching at the tight edges and slamming the base against a lower shelf to knock it loose.

The box creaked as the splitting wood worsened, pieces of the lid skittering across the floor as Castiel pried it apart. There were tears on his face from the agony, his knees giving way as he swung his arms back for another go, and he toppled to the floor, the box clattering out of his hands.

But there it was. His Grace; pressed to the glass of the vial as it rolled free from the wooden container, the sound of glass against the stone accompanied by the low hum of the trapped energy.

Castiel's laugh was weak but buoyant, the smile on his face almost as painful as the gauges in his palms as he clenched the vial in his hand.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, forcing himself up onto his elbows, slightly dizzy knowing that he was that much closer to becoming an angel again.

That he was so close to getting Dean back to safety.

“Gassagen noas, scanse,” Castiel murmured, his voice warbling as he moved to open the vial. “Olani oiad nanaeel emna olani vnig.”

He gritted his teeth, as he voiced the rest of the spell, the tug in his chest becoming more prominent, painful and throbbing with every spoken word, the Grace in the vial practically pulsating through the glass until Castiel withdrew the misshapen cork plug, releasing his Grace into the open area before it was surging down his throat.

The vial was crushed in his hand, glass cutting into his skin as he tried to swallow his scream, his life energy burning its way through his torso until it was twisting in his chest and scorching through his veins with every erratic beat of his heart.

He pushed back against the shelving, knocking several files down atop him as he tried to control the flood of power, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut as the blue light flared in his vision, his muscles tensing with agony.

But then he felt nothing.

No pain, no … discomfort. Just the raw energy and a distinct emptiness in his chest as he forced himself healed.

He blinked his eyes open again weakly, a frown pulling at his lips.

He knew what it was. He’d known his Grace would cancel out his emotions, his cares weaker in intensity now that it was present.

That is, all his cares for everything but the bond.  _That_  was actually noticeable now, both physically and in terms of the weight in his solar plexus, and he stared down at the thin blue trail of light as it curled from the centre of his chest to beyond the hidden room, lighting a path down through the passageway.

Castiel took a moment to simply watch it whilst he healed himself completely, his hope blooming into genuine  _knowledge_  that Dean was okay, and he stumbled to his feet the moment he felt well enough to stand, following the bright trail with his eyes as it crossed through the door.

His wings were unsheathing painlessly by the time he'd unlocked the hatch manually, light spilling out onto the library floor as Castiel rushed out to follow the trail of his Grace, using his powers to close the door behind him. His feathers tore through the fabric of his shirt but he was fixing the seams immediately, simultaneously summoning a universal mist to his side, directing its focus to Dean's  _actual_  location.

He knew that ideally taking Sam home should have been his first task, but if Dean was alive  _now_ , Castiel didn't want to risk losing him at all. He was too close to let anything bad happen, and Sam was  _safe_. He wasn't at risk.

Dean still was.

Castiel came to an abrupt standstill when the picture came into view though, gingerly reaching out to touch at the transparent cloud, enlarging the image.

The man looked absolutely fine; no kind of detectable damage to his form, and aside from the very prominent upset, there didn't seem to be anything wrong at all.

He stared at the image a little more intently, encouraging the universal mist to distance itself from the man’s hunched position on the carpeted floor, trying to uncover Dean’s exact location from sight alone.

But Castiel didn't know where this was. He'd never seen that room before and he didn't know if he could even arrive there using flight.

He glanced down at his own chest once more, his stomach feeling tight as he pushed himself to start running again, the universal mist hovering beside him as he dodged between the library tables toward the doors.

There was a reason Dean had been kept isolated like that. They could have easily just abandoned him in the middle of the war ground to end his life, or even tormented him themselves in the dungeons. 

Castiel couldn't help but feel even more worried, even if Dean was currently well and good. The visibility of their bond played another part in that, knowing that _everyone_ would be able to see it. He hadn’t thought he’d ever have some form of angelic portrayal of what he and Dean shared, and although it could be seen as almost ungrateful of him, he really wished it didn’t exist.

Right now, he didn’t know if Dean was in Heaven, or on earth, or even in _Hell_ , but there was bound to be someone who knew his location, and if they were nearby they’d immediately be made aware of where Castiel was.

Of course, it was of great help in terms of allowing Castiel to locate Dean, but Uriel – or any of the others – could just as simply stall Castiel on his travels and give him a repeat of earlier. A more severe repeat of earlier. One that he may not be able to revive from.

 

 *

 

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean spun around ardently, his eyes darting over the several angels that stood on the opposite side of the table, taking a step back. They were all staring at him, stoic and despotic in posture; making Dean's knees go stupidly weak again. He was trying to be confident but his palms were sweating and he felt like he was about to pass out, still uncertain as to whether or not this approach would be as unpredictable as Uriel's.

He clenched his jaw when one of them started around the table toward him, tripping over his own feet backwards into the wall before glancing around desperately for anything to defend himself with, no matter how fucking useless it would be.

"You don't need to be scared. We're not going to hurt you," one stated coolly, her footsteps slow and padded on the soft carpet floor. "We just need to check something."

"Check what?!" Dean blurted. "I haven't even been told why I'm here!"

"Hannah, I've already told you. He doesn't know anything," hissed the angel that had brought him to this room in the first place. "This is pointless."

"Yes. Well we need to check again to make certain of that fact," she retorted sharply, casting a dark look back at them before she was facing him again, her brow lightly furrowed and her eyes wide.

"Do you know where Castiel is?" She asked slowly, in a much more pleasant tone might he add, but there was still an underlying ... stress to her words; like in spite of this attempt at voicing her question in a calmer fashion, she was holding back completely. Dean wasn't really sure if it was anger or worry - or something else altogether - but he didn't want to risk pissing anyone else off. Especially when there were so many angels in the room with him.

"No. I don't," he replied, casting his gaze over the few angels that remained clustered together on the opposite side of the table. There was something off about the way they stood, like they were almost scared of him.

Obviously that was a stupid thought given how fucking powerless he was in comparison to them, but their stares were beginning to make him feel even more self conscious. He wasn't keeping anything from them - and given the fact that one of them had already read his mind to see how much he already knew, surely this whole ideal was pointless? He literally couldn't keep anything hidden if they read his mind, and maybe he'd been able to keep Cas out in the past, but he hadn't tried to do that at all before. He really didn't understand why they couldn't just reread his mind anyway if they wanted to double check. 

“What about the ones who brought you here? Do you know where _they_ are?”

Dean swallowed thickly. “No. No, they just … what the hell is all this about?”

His question was once more ignored, this _Hannah’s_ expression turning sour as that cold touch swept over Dean’s head. He kept still holding her line of sight determinedly as he let her look at whatever the fuck she wanted.

Her search was almost desperate and Dean flinched as she tugged on the memory of him making the deal, clenching his jaw as she continued to filter through the events of the past few days.

The touch cut off and Dean brought a hand up to rub at his left temple, leaning back against the wall fully as he waited for the ache to subside.

“Make sure he doesn’t get into Heaven,” she called back to the others, her eyes still locked on Dean’s own. “And someone get …”

She trailed off, her gaze flicking down to the centre of Dean’s chest moments before a trail of light spilled out between them.

Dean stared at it for a moment in shock, his hand falling through the steam of blue light in an attempt to separate it from his chest. "What is this?" He blurted, swiping his hand through it again when it surged forward toward the far wall. "What the hell have you done to me?!"

Hannah took a step back, one of her hands falling on the edge of the table and the others collectively drew in a sharp breath, making Dean’s stomach clench tight with dread.

“What?” He followed up, a little quieter, glancing to them desperately. They all seemed to wear matching expressions of panic, every pair of eyes focused intently on the ghosted thread.

“He’s here already,” Hannah breathed.

“Who's here already? Do you mean Cas?!” He pressed urgently, his hand fluttering around the blue light as he waited for an answer. “He’s actually okay?!”

The look in her eyes was far from reassuring, but in spite of that Dean still clung to his hope, pushing away from the wall when another angel began to speak.

“He’s going to kill you.”

Dean stilled, his brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”

An angel from amidst the cluster, male with dark hair, continued to direct his line of sight at Dean’s chest, his expression blank. “They're going t-“

“How can the death of one human be your main concern right now?” A brunette snapped, her grey eyes flashing white when she turned to face the others. “He's going to kill us  _all_!"

Dean felt his head swim when several others began to shout in response, a high pitched noise ringing out in unison to their argument.

"I gave you orders to bar the library _specifically_ to avoid this situation! You've given them access to _everything_!”

“The library  _was_ barred!" Another female retorted. "Ramiel stayed behind to guard the entrance!"

"You left him  _alone_?!"

"Michael told me to -"

"HEY!" Dean screamed over them, his voice scratching in his throat as several pairs of glowing eyes became fixated on him. "Will someone  _please_  tell me what the fuck is going on?!

He backed away abruptly when the nearest angel moved toward him, their expression twisting into something horrific.

"You humans are all the same, concerned with nothing but yourself!" They hissed, slamming Dean up against the wall. "That _abomination_  is going to be the downfall of our entire race, and I wouldn't be surprised if he wipes out the rest of the human population once he's done with everyone here!"

"W-what the hell are you talking about?! Cas would never -"

"You haven't even the faintest idea of what he's capable of!" The angel snapped, their hands twisting in Dean's shirt. "He's going to destroy  _everything_!"

Dean struggled to catch his breath when the angel finally let him go, flustered and confused.

"Someone take this boy back before -"

A loud rumbling noise echoed about the room, the walls trembling and the furniture vibrating as Dean toppled to the floor. There was a harsh screaming in his ears, that same high pitched screech worsening as the angels clustered together on the other side of the table, a few of them clawing at what seemed to be the only exit out of the room.

He lay there motionless, squinting about the room as a bright light formed in the centre, just above the table. The trail leading from his chest snapped toward it abruptly, the tendril of light coiling around the emerging orb. There was a sharp cracking sound as the table split in two, thin wooden shards firing from the wreckage like spears against the walls and surrounding furniture, only causing the angels to freak out even more.

Dean's head pounded with the onslaught of noise, his hand grasping at the foot of a chair to pull something closer for defence. It was clear that no one here would help him should any serious threat come his way, and with the way the angels were behaving, he knew that having some form of protection would keep him alive longer.

But the moment the black feathers spilled from the orb his grip loosened, his eyes blinking furiously as he tried to focus properly through the intensity.

"Cas?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive my terrible end to this chapter. my animation deadline is this friday and I wanted to get something out as soon as I could in terms of this story, seeing as I haven't updated in over a year
> 
> it is almost finished. I can promise you that


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